"That's your lookout. Some blind men work. I suppose you would rather get your living by begging."
"I would work my fingers to the bone if I could only see," whined Mills.
"So you say; but I don't believe it. At any rate, that boy of yours can see. Why don't you set him to work?"
"He has to take care of me."
"I would work if I could get anything to do," said Frank.
As he spoke, he felt his hand pressed forcibly by his companion, who did not relish his answer.
"I cannot spare him," he whined. "He has to do everything for me."
When they were again in the street, Mills demanded, roughly, "What did you mean by saying that?"
"What, sir?"
"That you wanted to go to work."