Not having it means day and night slaving. Work, work, work! Dunno how those Yateses keep their spirits so high sometimes. Look at that girl! Orange Bowl Queen, come Christmas!
Going to college on a scholarship, she is. Has to get good marks to earn her tuition. Runs home to wash and iron and cook. Drives downtown three nights a week to earn a measly few bucks. Then goes dancing on her free nights, or posing for pictures, or fitting a costume, or attending some college party or meeting! The young sure have energy!”
Duff nodded. “She sure has, anyhow.”
Harry Ellings went on, “Got it from her mother. Look at Sarah Yates. Lies there day and night — can’t move her legs. So what? Does she gripe and whine? No. Knits. Sews.
Makes all the clothes the kids wear. By golly, son, that’s pluck!”
“Yeah.”
“So leave the shears out. I’ll pitch in, mornings. Money! Doggone! A person could use a barrel of gold!”
Duff didn’t reply. He merely thought, for the thousandth time, that a simple, gentle good-hearted, mousy guy like Ellings could never be associated with anything un-American.
Anything dangerous, deadly, murderous. It didn’t make sense.
Harry continued to talk, which was unusual. He gave a self-deprecating laugh and said, “Nearest I ever got to any money was that melted-down platinum. Guess it was kind of dumb.”