The firm had been very successful. Bog had
comfortably supported himself and his aunt (whose rheumatism got worse
in steady proportion as his business improved), and had invested more
than two hundred and fifty dollars in a Wall-street savings bank.
With this money at his disposal, Bog might have thrown away the greasy
cap and old coat and trowsers, spotted with paste, in which he pursued
his occupation. But when Bog was at his business, he was not above his
business. And he felt none the less attached to his old clothes because
they were two inches too short in the legs and arms, and pinched him a
little in all directions.
But Bog had a better suit, made of neat gray cloth, which he wore upon
occasions. These occasions happened daily between three and four P.M.
During that interval, it always fell out that Bog had no work to do
which he could not postpone as well as not. And whether it rained or
shone, the occasions brought him, like an inexorable fate, through the
street where Miss Pillbody's school was situated. He would first stride
smartly up the opposite sidewalk, whistling, and cast ardent glances at
the lower windows of Miss Pillbody's school, shaded by green curtains
with gold borders.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302