George was taking care of the folks at home quite generously, he was skimping and almost cheating himself to increase day by day this cash reserve. This afternoon, counting up, his cash reserve totaled $190.
From the day's take-in he added another ten dollars and laid the whole in Tony Colombo's surprised and grateful hand—after Tony and George had together evolved a bill of sale, to which the seller affixed his scrawling signature.
The next day, with another assistant in Tony's place and the first man raised to a sort of foreman, George Judson at school—and making an excursion into the literature of the Elizabethan period—was distracted by glowing reflections that besides old Nick Cross selling papers and magazines, two pairs of swarthy hands were shining shoes for his customers and ringing up dimes in the cash-drawer. He got a rare thrill out of this and knew that he was becoming a magnate upon a small scale.
But there were always happening things to prevent him from feeling plutocratic—to remind him that his necessities still exceeded his rewards. As, for instance, on the very evening of his acquisition of the boot-black stand, Doctor Denman, while making a family rather than a sick-call upon the Judsons, had ventured the remark that some wonderful things were beginning to be done with spines now. He
