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On the other hand, the farm laborer with his sixteen hours work a day for a forty-cent wage, the carpenter straining for his fifty-two cents a day, the shoemaker drudging for his seventy-three cents a day and the blacksmith for his seventy cents, thought over this injustice as they bent over their tasks.
"I have feasted copiously at grand hotels where they charge you corkage on your own hot-water bottle, and I have dallied frugally with the forty-cent table d'hote with wine, when the victuals were the product of the well-known Sam Brothers Flot and Jet and the wine tasted like the stuff that was left over from graining the woodwork for a mahogany finish.
He gave evidence of a careful, workmanlike performance, but promise of nothing more. "While he was working out the part Mansfield scarcely ate or slept. He had a habit of dining with a group of young Bohemians at a table d'hôte in Sixth Avenue. The means of none of them made regularity at these forty-cent banquets possible, so his absence was meaningless.
The callow grass between the walks was the color of verdigris, a poisonous green, reminiscent of the horde of derelict humans that had breathed upon the soil during the summer and autumn. The bursting tree buds looked strangely familiar to those who had botanized among the garnishings of the fish course of a forty-cent dinner.
It was my intention, first, to buy me some clothes, after that, some drinks. I needed the clothes. All I possessed were on me, and they were as follows: a pair of sea-boots that providentially leaked the water out as fast as it ran in, a pair of fifty-cent overalls, a forty-cent cotton shirt, and a sou'wester.
He calls up a thin, peak-nosed, wild-eyed gink who's wearin' a greasy waiter's coat and a coffee-stained white shirt. "From a forty-cent table d'hôte restaurant," goes on Eggleston. "An alert, quick-moving, deft-handed person valuable qualities, you will admit.
I might meet one of your great friends, and she might snub me, but I would never think she had snubbed me it would be my Western accent, and my forty-cent hat, and things like that which had put me in a class in her mind. My real self nobody can snub certainly not until they've got at it." "Ah!" said Sylvia, with shining eyes. "You have your own kind of aristocracy, I see!"
I named it, and then again there was a pause. "How long has this this possibility of infection existed?" "Ever since her marriage, nearly eighteen months ago." That told him a good part of the story. I felt his look boring me through. Was I a mad woman? Or some new kind of blackmailer? Or, was I, possibly, a Claire? I was grateful for my forty-cent bonnet and my forty-seven years.
Satterlee let it be inferred that the rôle of peacemaker had informally settled upon himself. "In a little place everybody ought to pull together," he would say, his bland tolerance falling like balm from heaven, and he would clinch the remark by passing round forty-cent cigars.
"The aristocratic parlour-lamp is indisposed," he said. "It has balked, refuses to turn up, and smells dreadfully." "Bring in the plebeians, George," Fred cried gaily, "and never mind the patrician the forty-cent plebs never fail. I told Jim Russell to bring his lantern, and Peter can stand in a corner and light matches if we are short."
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