It's a fact, mother! Think of getting eighteen shillings a week for that! It's a fraud!" Mrs Cruden could hardly tell whether to laugh or cry.
"My poor boy!" she murmured; then, turning to Reginald, she said, "And what do you do, Reg ?" "Oh, I sweep rooms," said Reg, solemnly; "but they've got such a shocking bad broom there that I can't make it act.

If you could give me a new broom-head, mother, and put me up to a dodge or two about working out corners, I might rise in my profession!" There was a tell-tale quaver in the speaker's voice which made this jaunty speech a very sad one to the mother's ears.

It was all she could do to conceal her misery, and when Horace came to the rescue with a racy account of the day's proceedings, told in his liveliest manner, she was glad to turn her head and hide from her boys the trouble in her face.
However, she soon recovered herself, and by the time Horace's story was done she was ready to join her smiles with those which the history had drawn even from Reginald's serious countenance.
"After all," said she, presently, "we must be thankful for what we have.
Some one was saying the other day there never was a time when so many young fellows were out of work and thankful to get anything to do.

And it's very likely too, Reg, that just now, when they seem rather in confusion at the office, they really haven't time to see about what your regular work is to be.

Wait a little, and they're sure to find out your value." "They seem to have done that already as far as sweeping is concerned.
The manager said I didn't know how to hold a broom.