| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 187 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
Presently the boy stood up and walking gravely over to the window, looked down into the street, scanning the pavement for as far as he could see: he had been doing this at intervals for the last hour. `I wonder wherever he's got to,' he said, as he returned to the fire. `I'm sure I don't know,' returned his mother. `Perhaps he's had to work overtime.' `You know, I've been thinking lately,' observed Frankie, after a pause, `that it's a great mistake for Dad to go out working at all. I believe that's the very reason why we're so poor.' `Nearly everyone who works is more or less poor, dear, but if Dad didn't go out to work we'd be even poorer than we are now. We should have nothing to eat.' `But Dad says that the people who do nothing get lots of everything |
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