Do you want me?
If you do, will you give me enough to live on--enough to buy a suit of clothes a year, to pay for food and a room?
If I work for you for nothing, I have to live on others for nothing, or kill myself as you're doing." There was no answer at once, and Charley went on: "I came to you because I saw you wanted help badly.

I saw that you were hard-pushed and sick--" "I wasn't sick," interrupted the tailor with a snarl.
"Well, overworked, which is the same thing in the end.

I did the best I could: I gave you my hands--awkward enough they were at first, I know, but--" "It's a lie.

They weren't awkward," churlishly cut in the tailor.
"Well, perhaps they weren't so awkward, but they didn't know quite what to do--" "You knew as well as if you'd been taught," came back in a growl.
"Well, then, I wasn't awkward, and I had a knack for the work.

What was more, I wanted work.