"
But Mary was not a bit impressed. I remembered that she came from
Kansas, and in Kansas a dollar is not so big as in our valley.
"Living is so expensive in the city," she said absently. "With eight
dollars a week here Tim would be a millionaire. But in New York--" A
shrug of the shoulder expressed her meaning.
"True," said I, a bit ruefully.
I had expected her to clasp her hands, to look up at me and listen to
my stories of Tim's success, and hear my dreams for his future.
Instead, she went on knitting, never once raising her eyes to me. It
exasperated me. In sheer chagrin I took to silence and smoking. But
she would not let me rest long this way, though I was slowly lulling
myself into a state of semi-coma, of indifference to her and calm
disdain.
"Of course Tim has made some friends," she said, glancing up from her
work very casually.
"Of course he has," I snapped.
"That's nice," she murmured--knitting, knitting, knitting.
I expected her to ask who his friends were, and how he had made them.
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