“Mine is Greenleaf—Peter Greenleaf. Have you come from a distance?”
“From Waverley, in Ohio, not far from Cincinnati.”
“I am from Philadelphia. I've been in a store there, but I didn't like the style, and I concluded to go to New York. There's more chance for a fellow of enterprise there.”
“What sort of a store were you in?”
“Dry-goods store—Hatch & Macy. Old Hatch is a mean skinflint, and wouldn't pay me half what I was worth. I don't want to brag, but there wasn't a man in that store that sold as much as I did. And how much do you think I got?”
“I don't know.”
“Only seven dollars a week. If I hadn't made something another way. I couldn't have paid my expenses.”
“I should think you might live on seven dollars a week.”
This was before the war had increased the expenses of living.
“Couldn't do it. Board cost me four dollars a week, and that only left three for other expenses. My cigars cost me nearly that. Then I wanted to go to the theater now and then, and, of course, I must dress like a gentleman. I tell you what, seven dollars a week didn't begin to do me.”