“When I carried back the last shirts I made for Duncan & Co., they told me I couldn't have any more for a month or six weeks.”
“That will give you some time to rest, mother,” said Paul, who wanted to keep back his good news for a while.
“But I can't afford to rest, Paul.”
“You forget that I am earning money, mother. I am sure I can earn a dollar a day.”
“I know you are a good, industrious boy, Paul, and I don't know how we should get along without you. But it is necessary for me to do my part, though it is small.”
“Don't be anxious, mother; I am sure we can get along.”
“But I am not willing that the whole burden of supporting the family should come upon you. Besides, you are not sure how long you can retain your present employment.”
“I know that, mother; but something else will be sure to turn up. If I can't do anything else, I can turn bootblack, though I would prefer something else. There is no chance of my being out of work long.”
“There are fewer things for me to do,” said his mother, “but perhaps you can think of something. I shall go out this afternoon, and try my luck once more. If I do not succeed, I will consult with you this evening.”
“Suppose I tell you that I have work for you, enough to last for two or three weeks, that will pay five times as well as the work you have been doing; what would you say to that?” asked Paul, smiling.