The Widow Clark looked in and asked what he meant by "squanderin' profits that way." "Shet up, mar.

Gi' me elbow room," said her dutiful son.

"I'm writin' a fifty dollar story fer the _Tribune_." "Fifty dollars!" "Thirty, anyhow; mebbe fifty," replied Skim.

"What's a good name fer a detective, mar ?" The widow sat down and wiped her damp hands on her apron, looking upon her hopeful with an expression of mingled awe and pride.
"Kin ye do it, Skim ?" she asked softly.
"I s'pose I kin turn out one a day, by hard work," he said confidently.
"At thirty a day, the lowes' price, thet's a hunderd 'n' eighty a week, seven hunderd 'n' twenty a month, or over eight thousan' dollars a year.
I got it all figgered out.

It's lucky fer me the nabobs is rich, or they couldn't stan' the strain.