One thing puzzled her. When Ikey came from night school, he was never
asked to help in the work, no matter how much his help was needed. He was
always given the seat by the table nearest the lamp, and his father
himself cleared a place for his books.
"Ikey gits the education," Mr. Lavinski would say, with a proud smile.
"The Rabbi says he is the smartest boy in the class. He takes prizes over
big boys. Ve vork fer him now, an' some day he make big money an' take
care of us!"
Education as seen through Mr. Lavinski's eyes took on a new aspect for
Nance. It seemed that you did not get rich by going to work at fourteen,
but by staying at school and in some miraculous way skipping the factory
altogether. "I vork with my hands," said Mr. Lavinski; "my Ikey, he vorks
with his head."
Nance fell into the way of bringing her school books downstairs at night
and getting Ike to help her with her lessons. She would prop the book in
front of her and, without lessening the speed of her flying fingers, ply
him with the questions that had puzzled her during the day.
"I wisht I was smart as you!" she said one night.
"I reckon you do!" said Ike. "I work for it."
"You couldn't work no more 'n whut I do!" Nance said indignantly.
"There's a difference between working and being worked," said Ike,
wisely. "If I were you, I'd look out for number one."
"But who would do the cookin' an' lookin' after the kids, an' all?"
"They are nothing to you," said Ike; "none of the bunch is kin to you.
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