He took his place there at Baird's direction and began to write in a ledger.
"Now your old mother's coming to mop up the place," called Baird.

"Come on, Mother! You look up and see her, and rush over to her.

She puts down her bucket and mop, and takes you in her arms.

She's weeping; you try to comfort her; you want her to give up mopping, and tell her you can make enough to support two, but she won't listen because there's the mortgage on the little flat to be paid off.

So you go back to the desk, stopping to give her a sad look as she gets down on the floor.