“Been missin’ a few meals, ’ave you? Order what you want,” said the Australian, as they sat down to a table.
“I’ll warn you that I’m hungry,” cautioned Donald.
“ ’Op to it, me lad; about all we get in this blinkin’ world is what we eat. What’s your name?”
“Donald McLean.”
“Mine’s Andy Pettray.”
Then Andy delivered himself of the following information: “I’m the manager of Bill Hagin, the Austrylian ’eavyweight. We are to fight Slugger Garrieau, the Canadian champion, in about two weeks. The Slugger is well named, as ’e is an ’eavy ’itter and it tykes a good boxer to beat ’im. I want an ’eavy man that can speed Bill up a bit, and I’ve ’unted this town over, but I can’t find one. Now, if you can deliver the goods, you will be worth three dollars a day and your eats. What do you s’y?”
“I say ‘yes,’ ” was the decided answer.
Andy dug into his pocket. “ ’Ere’s three dollars to bind the bargain.”
“Better wait until I earn it,” suggested Donald.
“That’s all right, me lad; you’ll be needin’ it to eat on. I ain’t worryin’.