“I should think he would rather have the old man beg, so he wouldn’t have to give him so much money.”
“So should I. I wouldn’t mind. Old Jerry could make enough begging to support himself, easy.”
“Evidently you are a different chap from this telegraph boy,” observed Barclay, not without sarcasm.
“I hope so,” said Tom Rafferty. “I don’t put on no airs.”
“And he does?”
“You’d better believe it. And after all he’s only a telegraph boy. I could go on the telegraph myself, if I wanted to.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’d rather have my liberty, and be my own boss. I guess I make as much money, any way.”
“You could dress better, and be cleaner,” suggested Barclay, surveying the ragged costume and soiled face and hands of the bootblack.
“What’s the use of being clean?” asked Tom, with calm philosophy. “You don’t feel no better. Besides, you’re sure to get dirty again. It’s all foolishness.”