The dizziness was subsiding. "Anything—so it's work!"
The Mayor meditated a moment. "Well, I only know o' one job just now, and you wouldn't have it."
"What is it?" demanded David, tensely.
"The agent o' the house where I live told me a couple o' days ago he wanted a new janitor."
"I'll take it!"
"Sweepin'—scrubbin'—sortin' rubbish—everybody cussin' you—twelve dollars a month."
The wages made David hesitate. He calculated. "I'll take it—if the agent will have me."
"He'll have you. Rogers's got a special interest in chaps that're makin' the fight you're makin'."
David half rose. "Hadn't I better see him at once?" he asked, anxiously. "The job may be taken any minute."
"Set down, young man. That job ain't goin' to run away. Here comes breakfast. I'll go with you when we're through. Gee, I could eat a house."