"Every dog loves its own lamp-posts," said Hickey. "It'll do you good to see the world. Wish to God I had the chance! And you'll make good. Even though you've lost your coin you've got the habit of class. Nobody can't take that from you. And people just naturally give up to a classy guy."
"I don't quite get you," said Greg.
"You've got style," said the taxi-driver. "Anybody could see you were accustomed to traveling with top-notchers."
"Nothing in it," said Greg. "My 'style' as you call it only gets in my way now that I've nothing to keep it up on. I'd do better if I could begin life over on a section gang."
"Don't you fool yourself," retorted the taxi-driver. "That's the way a swell always talks. 'Gee!' says he, 'if I was on'y a horny handed ton of soil I could make something of myself!' It reads well in a book. But take it from me, kid, the ditch-digger is the scratch man in the race of life; he's got twict as far to run. Why any ordinary fella born in a soft bed can keep it, but it takes one o' these here now Napoleons to win one. Look at me now. I may as well say I ain't no Napoleon and here I am. I was born to sweat, and I'm still sweating. Of course I got my vices. I shoot craps; that helps keep me poor. But it's the habit of being poor that's so hard to break. If I could only once get ahead far enough to buy me a real swell outfit nothing could stop me."
"You're dead wrong," said Greg. "There's not so much in appearances as people like to think. Why, the richest man I know goes around looking like a rag-picker. And there's many a fancy vest covers an empty stomach. A workman with a good trade is a king alongside one of those poor devils that clings to the edge of what is called Society."
"Well, I'd like to try a little clinging."
"There's nothing like honest work."
"For others. Anybody can have my share. I wisht I had your chances, that's all."
"I'd give my 'chances' as you call them quick enough for a trade."