"Washing's all done, but there's a lot o' your shirts waiting to be ironed—an' me here, lettin' me iron get cold!"
"Oh, never mind the shirts, Mrs. Trapes! Pray sit down; I need your counsel and advice."
"But me iron?"
"Give it to me—there!" and Mr. Ravenslee deposited it outside on the fire escape.
"Now Mrs. Trapes," said he, "first of all, I must find work. 'Man is born to labour, as the sparks fly upward,' you know."
"Born to sorrer, you mean!" she corrected.
"Precisely," he nodded, "work is sorrow, and sorrow is work—at least, I know a good many people who think so."
"More fools them!" quoth Mrs. Trapes, folding her arms.
"My own idea exactly!" he answered, lazily tapping out his pipe on the window sill.
"I ain't noticed you sweating none, lately!" quoth Mrs. Trapes sarcastically.