Here we sit, with three times as
much food before us as we can eat; and all over this city are poor
devils with nothing to eat, and no homes to go to--don't you know
that's true, Abey? Don't you know it, Maw?"
"Looka here, kid," said the magnate; "you know vot'll happen to you
if you git to broodin' over tings? You git your face full o'
wrinkles--you already gone and spoilt your make-up."
"Shucks, Abey," broke in Maw, "vot you gotta do vit dat? Vy don't
you mind your own business?"
"Mind my own business? My own business, you say? Vell, I like to
know vot you call my business! Ven I got a contract to pay a girl
tirty-five hunded dollars a veek fer her face, and she goes and gits
it all wrinkles, I ask any jury, is it my business or ain't it? And
if a feller vants to pull de tremulo stop fer a lot o' hoboes and
Bullsheviki, and goes and spills his tears into his soup--"
It sounded fierce; but Mary apparently knew her Abey; also, she saw
that Maw was starting to cry. "There's no use trying to bluff me,
Abey.
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