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"
"But me iron?"
"Give it to me--there!" and Mr. Ravenslee deposited it outside on the
fire escape.
"Now Mrs. Trapes," said he, "first of all, I must find work. 'Man is
born to labour, as the sparks fly upward,' you know."
"Born to sorrer, you mean!" she corrected.
"Precisely," he nodded, "work is sorrow, and sorrow is work--at least,
I know a good many people who think so."
"More fools them!" quoth Mrs. Trapes, folding her arms.
"My own idea exactly!" he answered, lazily tapping out his pipe on the
window sill.
"I ain't noticed you sweating none, lately!" quoth Mrs. Trapes
sarcastically.
"Alas, no, Mrs. Trapes, there being no wherefore to call forth the
aforesaid--er--moisture. Still, 'man is as grass that withereth' unless
he 'goeth forth unto his labour.'"
"An' quite right too!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "If I had my way I'd make 'em
all work!"
"That would be rather hard on our legislators and Fifth Avenue parsons,
wouldn't it? Anyway, I want work, that's sure!"
"Y' mean as your money's all gone?"
"Very nearly," sighed Mr.


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