Jane had heard of O-liver. Tommy sang his constant praises.
"Why fifteen?"
"After that you get soft."
Jane laid down the length of pink gingham and looked at him. She hated to sew on pink; it clashed dreadfully with her hair.
"I should say," she stated with scorn, "that your O-liver's lazy."
"No, he isn't. He only wants enough to eat and enough to smoke and enough to read."
"That sounds all right, but it isn't. What's he going to do when he's old?"
"He ain't ever going to grow old. He said so, and if you'd see him you'd know."
Jane felt within her the stirring of curiosity. But she put it down sternly. She had no time for it.
"Tommy," she said, "I've been thinking. I've got to earn more money, and I want your help."