He must be up at five, sprinkle the floor, sweep it, take down the dust curtains from the shelves of dry goods, clean and fill the lamps, then station outside the dummies in their raiment.

All day he would serve customers, snatching a hasty lunch of crackers and cheese behind the grocery counter.

And at night, instead of twice watching The Hazards of Hortense, he must still unreasonably serve late customers until the second unwinding of those delectable reels.
He suddenly sickened of it all.

Was he not sufficiently versed in the art he had chosen to practise?
And old Gashwiler every day getting harder to bear! His resolve stiffened.

He would not wait much longer--only until the savings hidden out under the grocery counter had grown a bit.