At the end of Eugene’s first year at Leonard’s, Eliza told John Dorsey she could no longer afford to pay the tuition. He conferred with Margaret and, returning, agreed to take the boy for half price.
“He can help you drum up new prospects,” said Eliza.
“Yes,” Leonard agreed, “that’s the very thing.”
Ben bought a new pair of shoes. They were tan. He paid six dollars for them. He always bought good things. But they burnt the soles of his feet. In a scowling rage he loped to his room and took them off.
“Goddam it!” he yelled, and hurled them at the wall. Eliza came to the door.
“You’ll never have a penny, boy, as long as you waste money the way you do. I tell you what, it’s pretty bad when you think of it.” She shook her head sadly with puckered mouth.
“O for God’s sake!” he growled. “Listen to this! By God, you never hear me asking any one for anything, do you?” he burst out in a rage.
She took the shoes and gave them to Eugene.
“It would be a pity to throw away a good pair of shoes,” she said. “Try’em on, boy.”
He tried them on. His feet were already bigger than Ben’s. He walked about carefully and painfully a few steps.
“How do they feel?” asked Eliza.
“All right, I guess,” he said doubtfully. “They’re a little tight.”
He liked their clean strength, the good smell of leather. They were the best shoes he had ever had.
Ben entered the kitchen.
“You little brute!” he said. “You’ve a foot like a mule.” Scowling, he knelt and touched the straining leather at the toes. Eugene winced.
“Mama, for God’s sake,” Ben cried out irritably, “don’t make the kid wear them if they’re too small. I’ll buy him a pair myself if you’re too stingy to spend the money.”
“Why, what’s wrong with these?” said Eliza. She pressed them with her fingers. “Why, pshaw!” she said. “There’s nothing
