“Mr. Crabb,” said Hector, earnestly, “I shall feel flattered by your confidence.”
“Thank you, Roscoe; or, rather, since we are going to be friends, let me distinguish you from the other boys and call you Hector.”
“I wish you would, sir.”
“I need not tell you that I am poor,” continued Mr. Crabb; “you can read it in my shabby clothes. I sometimes see the boys looking at my poor suit, as if they wondered why I dressed so badly. Smith has more than once cast insulting looks at my rusty coat. It is not penuriousness, as some of the boys may think—it is poverty that prevents me from attiring myself more becomingly.”
“Mr. Crabb, I sympathize with you,” said Hector.
“Thank you, Hector. Of that I am sure.”
“Mr. Smith ought to pay you enough to clothe yourself neatly. He makes you work hard enough.”
“He pays me twenty dollars a month,” said the usher; “twenty dollars and my board.”
“Is that all?” asked Hector, in amazement. “Why, the girl in the kitchen earns nearly that.”
“To be sure,” answered the usher, bitterly; “but in Mr. Smith’s estimation, I stand very little higher. He does not value education, not possessing it himself. However, you may wonder why, even with this sum, I cannot dress better. It is because I have another than myself to support.”