40
As he read, his mother sat down beside him. “Read me a little.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Ma.” “What do you care? Read me a little.
When I was a girl I wanted to study so much, but who could?
My father used to cry when I talked to him about it,
but he cried because he couldn’t afford to educate the boys—even.”
As he read, she listened gravely; then went back to her ironing.
The gaslight shone on her round, ruddy face and the white
cotton sheets that she spread and ironed;
from the shelf the alarm-clock ticked and ticked rapidly.

41
He had a rich uncle who sent him to a university and would
        have taken him into the firm; but he went off and married
        a girl, the men of whose family were truckmen.
His uncle would have nothing to do with him, and he became
        a cigar pedlar; but his wife was beautiful.
Even after she had borne children and had had to drudge and
        scrimp all her married life, whenever she came to his
        lodge ball, men and women turned to look at her.

His uncle died and left him a little money. And just in time,
        because he was growing too old to walk around at his
        business the way he had to.
He bought a formula for making an oil, rented a loft in which
        to manufacture, hired a salesman.
Perhaps the formula was a swindle, perhaps it was a lack of
        experience in the business, but in a year or two he lost his money.
He went back to cigar peddling. His wife’s hair had become
        white, but it gave her new beauty.