“What have you got on, I’d like to know?” he inquired.
“Some rags and overalls,” answered Grant bluntly.
“They’re good enough to work in. You’ve got a suit to wear Sundays.”
“Have I? It’s hardly fit to wear common days. Why, it’s a year since I had the suit, and I’ve outgrown it.”
“I’m afraid you’re getting proud, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily.
“I’m not proud of my clothes, I can tell you that. Mr. Tarbox, I’ve worked for you the last year early and late, and I think I ought to have a new suit. It will make a nice birthday present.”
“Money’s very skerce, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily, “and clothes are very high. I gave twelve dollars for that last suit of yours. It came hard. Think how long it takes to earn twelve dollars. I haven’t had a suit myself for ten months.”
“But you can have one if you want it.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Grant,” said Mr. Tarbox, with a bright idea. “You’re ’most as big as I am. You’re unusually large for your age. I’ll buy a new suit for myself, and give you mine. Your mother can fix it over to fit you.”
Grant’s face assumed a look of disgust.