“Mamma,” asked Jack, trudging along stoutly, but looking grave and perplexed, “why can’t poor people have nice things?”
“Why? Oh!” said Mrs. Russell, who had not noticed the poor woman and her boy, “because they have no money to buy them. Pretty things cost money, you know.”
Jack thought this over a little in his own way; then, “But, Mamma,” he said, “why don’t they buy some money at the money shop?”
Mrs. Russell only laughed at this, and patted Jack’s head and called him a “little goose,” and then they went into a large shop and bought a beautiful wax doll for Sissy.
But Jack’s mind was still at work, and while they were waiting for the flaxen-haired beauty to be wrapped in white tissue paper and put in a box, he pursued his inquiries.
“Where do you get your money, Mamma dear?”
“Why, your dear Papa gives me my money, Jacky boy. Didn’t you see him give me all those nice crisp bills this morning?”
“And where does my Papa get his money?”
“Oh, child, how you do ask questions! He gets it at the bank.”
“Then is the bank the money shop, Mamma?”