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Updated: June 29, 2025
Job Snavely, garbed in the black broadcloth which he wore one day out of seven, paused in front of Mr. Cadge's door and bade him good morning. "Mornin'," responded the ruffled father. "Your little girl is quite a song bird," continued Mr. Snavely, with his usual facility in making well-meant small-talk more irritating than a hurled brick. "She sings too much," commented Mr.
It was eight o'clock, the bank would not open for an hour, she had had the money in the house all the time. The deceitfulness of women! Mr. Cadge's blood rose to his head. His little green eyes smouldered. Fortunately for the widow, Mr. Snavely drove up at that moment on his delivery wagon, and cheerfully agreed to appraise the work.
Snavely, "that I have found a small piece of work for you, which will be worth a dollar and a half a day." Cadge's brow was still gloomy.
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