If you live snug, you can
get along there cheap as well as anywhere, I reckon. What was you
doin'?"
"I was a salesman for A. T. Stewart, our leading dry-goods merchant."
"What pay did you get?"
"A thousand dollars a year."
"Why, that's a fine salary. You'd ought to save up a good deal."
"You don't realize how much it costs to live in New York, aunt. Of
course, if I lived here, I could live on half the sum, but I have to
pay high prices for everything in New York."
"You don't need to spend such a sight on dress," said Deborah,
disapprovingly.
"I beg your pardon, Aunt Deborah; that's where you are mistaken. The
store-keepers in New York expect you to dress tip-top and look
genteel, so as to do credit to them. If it hadn't been for that, I
shouldn't have spent half so much for dress. Then, board's very
expensive."
"You can get boarded here for two dollars and a half a week," said
Aunt Deborah.
"Two dollars and a half! Why, I never paid less than eight dollars a
week in the city, and you can only get poor board for that."
"The boarding-houses must make a great deal of money," said Deborah.
"If I was younger, I'd maybe go to New York, and keep one myself."
"You're rich, aunt. You don't need to do that."
"Who told you I was rich?" said the old lady, quickly.
"Why, you've only got yourself to take care of, and you own this
farm, don't you?"
"Yes, but farmin' don't pay much.
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