Stubby nodded.
As he was going down the steps the man called: “Say, boy, how'd you like a steady job?”
For the first minute it seemed pretty mean—making fun of a fellow that way!
“This will be here every day. Suppose you come each day, about this time, and take it over there—not mentioning it to anybody.”
Stubby felt weak. “Why, all right,” he managed to say.
“I'll give you fifty cents a week. That fair?”
“Yes, sir,” said Stubby, doing some quick calculation.
“Then here goes for the first week”—and he handed him the other forty cents.
It was funny how fast the world could change! Stubby wanted to run—he hadn't been doing much running of late. He wanted to go home and get Hero to go with him to Pleasant street, but didn't. No, sir, when you had a job you had to 'tend to things!
Well, a person could do things, if he had to, thought Stubby. No use saying you couldn't, you could, if you had to. He was back in tune with life. He whistled; he turned up his collar in the old rakish way; he threw a stick at a cat. Back home he jumped over the fence instead of going in the gate—lately he had actually been using the gate. And he cried, “Get out of my sight, you cur!” in tones which, as Hero understood things, meant anything but getting out of his sight.