Not heeding his companion’s remark, Bob continued: “And my lungs feel all stuffy. I couldn’t stand such a hot and smelly place more than a few minutes.”
“How do you suppose the moulders stand it for ten hours a day?” Fitz asked.
“I don’t see how they do—and I don’t see why they do,” the boy replied.
“You don’t see why they do?”
“No, I don’t.”
“For the same reason workmen stand disagreeable and dangerous kinds of work in your country, Bob; to earn a living.”
“I wouldn’t do it,” the boy declared loftily.
“You might have to, were you a grown man or goblin.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. My papa doesn’t have to do anything of the kind.”
“Your father’s a physician, isn’t he?”