"Yes, I know it, and it's a shame," said the boy. "They get about five cents for a pair of pants and ten cents for a coat, and some of 'em make shirts for three and four cents apiece. I don't see how they stand it. No, she wouldn't earn anything at that."
"I was a-telling her of Gladys Summers, who sells flowers up on Fourteenth Street and at the theater doors, but she said she didn't want to go out on the street. She's afraid some of her friends would see her, I suppose."
"She hasn't any friends—'cepting you and me, Mrs. Kennedy. We've got to do for her."
"It's little I can offer, Nelson; ye know that well enough. She can stay under my roof, but to board her——"
"I'll pay her board, until she finds something to do. I'll give you three dollars a week for keeping her."
"Will ye now? Nelson, you're more than kind-hearted. But where will ye be after getting the money?"
"I'll earn it," he answered resolutely. "I earn a dollar and over a day now, and I know I can make it more, if I try real hard."
He soon left the fruit-and-candy stand and started in to sell papers. He felt that he had a new responsibility on his shoulders, and he determined to do his best. Soon his efforts began to tell, and by five o'clock he was sold out, and the day's earnings amounted to a dollar and thirty-two cents.
"Half for Miss Horton and half for myself," he murmured. "That's the way it's got to be, after this."
He was soon on his way to the tenement house in which Mrs. Kennedy's rooms were located. Ascending two flights of stairs, he knocked on one of the doors.