He could stand it, he said, and a dollar a day was not to be sneezed at.

He could wear gloves and save his hands.
But the appearance of gloves was the signal for a general hooting and jeering from the boys of his own age who were employed there, and who had from the first looked askance at Harold because they knew how greatly he was their superior, and fancied an affront in everything he did and every word he said, it was spoken so differently from their own dialect.
'I can't stand it,' Harold said to Jerrie, after a week's trial with the gloves.

'I'd rather sweep the streets than be jeered at as I am.

I don't mind the work.

I am getting used to it, but the boys are awful.