I
was in a flutter. When I looked at the passers-by in the street I
would say to myself, "These people have no idea that I am worth a
hundred dollars."
Another thing I was ever conscious of was the fact that I had
earned the hundred dollars by my work. There was a touch of
solemnity in my mood, as though I had performed some feat of
valor or rendered some great service to the community. I was
impelled to convey this feeling to Jake, but when I attempted to
put it into words it was somehow lost in a haze and what I said
was something quite prosaic
"Guess how much I have in the savings-bank?" I began
"I haven't any idea. How much?"
"Just one hundred."
"Really?"
"Honest. But, then, what does it amount to, after all? Of course, it
is pleasant to feel that you have a trade and that you know how to
keep a dollar, don't you know."
So far from endearing me to the cloak trade, as might have been
expected, the hundred dollars killed at one stroke all the interest I
had taken in it.
It lent reality to my vision of college.
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