"No doubt of it. I came to that conclusion, in regard to myself, long and long ago. Sick wife, hungry children, and four or five backs to cover; no wonder a poor man's nose is ever on the grindstone. For my part, I am sick of it. When I was a single man, I could go where I pleased, and do what I pleased; and I always had money in my pocket. Now I am tied down to one place, and grumbled at eternally; and if you were to shake me from here to the Navy Yard, you wouldn't get a sixpence out of me. The fact is, I'm sick of it."
"So am I. But what is to be done? I don't believe I can get work in town."
"I know you can't. But there is plenty of work and good wages to be had in Charleston or New Orleans."
Logan did not reply; but looked intently into his companion's face.
"I'm sure my wife would be a great deal better off if I were to clear out and leave her. She has plenty of friends, and they'll not see her want."
Logan still looked at his fellow journeyman.
"And your wife would be taken back under her father's roof, where there is enough and to spare. Of course she would be happier than she is now."
"No doubt of that. The old rascal has treated her shabbily enough. But I am well satisfied that if I were out of the way he would gladly receive her back again."
"Of this there can be no question. So, it is clear, that with our insufficient incomes, our presence is a curse rather than a blessing to our families."
Logan readily admitted this to be true. His companion then drew a newspaper towards him, and after running his eyes over it for a few moments, read: