“Wait a minute, Mr. Tarbox. I want to speak to you.”
“Go ahead! You can speak if you want to,” said Tarbox, slightly surprised.
“It is my birthday to-day.”
“Is it? How old be you?”
“Sixteen.”
“A boy of sixteen ought to do a great deal of work. Why, you are ’most a man.”
“I do a good deal of work, Mr. Tarbox, but I don’t seem to get much pay for it.”
“Hey? You want pay? Why, don’t you get your victuals and clothes?”
“I get my victuals, yes. But I don’t get clothes, and that is just what I want to speak to you about.”
Mr. Tarbox began to grow uneasy. He knew what was coming.