He's paid my rent fer the last time."
This unexpected flare of independence in Mr. Snawdor was disturbing. The
Snawdor family without Uncle Jed was like a row of stitches from which
the knitting needle has been withdrawn.
"If I was two years older, I could go to work," said Nance, thinking of
Dan, who was now on the pay-roll of Clarke's Bottle Factory.
"It ain't right to make you stop school," said Mr. Snawdor. "It ain't
bein' fair to you."
"I'd do it all right," said Nance, fired by his magnanimity, "only
they're on to me now I've reported myself. Ain't you makin' any money at
the shop?"
Mr. Snawdor shook his head.
"I might if I was willin' to buy junk. But you know where them boys gets
their stuff."
Nance nodded wisely.
"The gang bust into a empty house last night an' cut out all the lead
pipes. I seen 'em comin' home with it."
Mr. Snawdor rose and went to the window.
"There ain't no chance fer a honest man," he said miserably. "I'm sick o'
livin', that's whut I am. I am ready to quit."
When Mrs. Snawdor arrived, she swept all domestic problems
impatiently aside.
"Fer goodness' sake don't come tellin' me no more hard-luck tales. Ain't
I got troubles enough of my own? Nance, soon 's you git through, go git
me a bucket of beer, an' if you see any of the Gormans, say I'll stop in
this evenin' on my way to work."
"I ain't goin' fer the beer no more," announced Nance.
"An' will ye tell me why?" asked Mrs. Snawdor.
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