"They're very wholesome!" he murmured.
"Sellin' peanuts ain't a man's job, no more than grinding a organ is."
"There's money in peanuts!"
"Money!" said Mrs. Trapes, wriggling her elbow joints. "How much did you make yesterday—come?"
"Fifty cents."
"Fifty cents!" she almost screamed, "is that all?"
"No—pardon me! There were three pimply youths on Forty-second Street—they brought it up to seventy-five."
"Only seventy-five cents? But you sold out your stock; Tony told me you did."
"Oh, yes, trade was very brisk yesterday."
"And you sold everything for seventy-five cents?"