He
vill be big rich some day, that boy; he's got a brain on him."
"Cut it out, Pa," said Ikey, "Nance is a smart kid; you won't lose
anything on her."
The result was that Nance was accorded the privilege of occupying a stool
in the corner behind the hot stove and sewing buttons on knee pantaloons,
from eight until ten P.M. At first the novelty of working against time,
with a room full of grown people, and of seeing the great stacks of
unfinished garments change into great stacks of finished ones, was
stimulation in itself. She was proud of her cushion full of strong
needles and her spool of coarse thread. She was pleased with the nods of
approval gentle Mrs. Lavinski gave her work in passing, and of the slight
interest with which she was regarded by the other workers.
But as the hours wore on, and the air became hotter and closer, and no
enlivening conversation came to relieve the strain, her interest began to
wane. By nine o'clock her hands were sore and stained, and her back
ached. By a quarter past, the buttons were slipping through her fingers,
and she could not see to thread her needle.
"You vill do better to-morrow night," said Mrs. Lavinski kindly, in her
wheezing voice. "I tell Ikey you do verra good."
Mrs. Lavinski looked shriveled and old. She wore a glossy black wig and
long ear-rings, and when she was not coughing, she smiled pleasantly over
her work. Once Mr. Lavinski stopped pressing long enough to put a cushion
at her back.
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