"Won't Mr. Bond pay you more?" asked Oliver.
"I guess not. I asked him last week, and he lectured me on the dulness of trade. Then he went on for to show that eight dollars was a fortune, and I'd orter keep my carriage on it. He's a regular old file, he is."
"From what you say, I don't think I shall get very high pay," said Oliver.
"It's different with you. You're a relation. You'll be took care of."
"I'm not related to Mr. Bond," said Oliver, sensible of a feeling of repugnance. "If it depends on that, I shall expect no favors."
"You'll get 'em, all the same. His uncle's your step-father."
"Where do you live?"
"Oh, I've got a room round on Bleecker Street. It's about big enough for a good-sized cat to live in. I have to double myself up nights so as not to overflow into the entry."
"Why don't you get a better room?"
"Why don't I live on Fifth Avenue, and set up my carriage? 'Cause it can't be done on eight dollars a week. I have to live accordin' to my income."