world who were guilty of so great a foolishness as tooth washing.

"You might wash yourself wunst a day without bein' told," his mother
complained.

She was holding a broken lid on the pot as she poured two cups of coffee.
He made no remark, for this was a standing quarrel between them, and the
one thing upon which his mother was hard as adamant. "Wunst" a day it was
compulsory that he should wash his face. He dried himself on a greasy
towel, damp and dirty and ragged, that left his face covered with shreds of
lint.

"I wish we didn't live so far away," she said, as he sat down. "I try to
do the best I can. You know that. But a dollar on the rent is such a
savin', an' we've more room here. You know that."

He scarcely followed her. He had heard it all before, many times. The
range of her thought was limited, and she was ever harking back to the
hardship worked upon them by living so far from the mills.

"A dollar means more grub," he remarked sententiously. "I'd sooner do the
walkin' an' git the grub."

He ate hurriedly, half chewing the bread and washing the unmasticated
chunks down with coffee. The hot and muddy liquid went by the name of
coffee. Johnny thought it was coffee--and excellent coffee. That was one
of the few of life's illusions that remained to him. He had never drunk
real coffee in his life.

In addition to the bread, there was a small piece of cold pork. His mother