Bart forced the bank note into Baker's hand. The man was shaking like a leaf from emotion. He stood like one spellbound, unable to take in all at once the good that was said of him and done him.
"Come," rallied Bart, giving him a ringing slap on the shoulder, "brace up and be what you have proved yourself to be—a man!"
Baker started electrically. His tones showed some force as he said:
"All right—you've made me feel good. But you don't know a whole lot, and I can't tell you. You say you're my friend."
"You believe that I am, do you not?"
"Yes, I do, and that's why I don't want to drag you into any complications. This ten dollars is mine, isn't it?"
"Certainly."
"Will you spend it for me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to give me a pencil and some paper, and I will write out a list of some things I want. You take it and the ten dollars and bring me the things here to-morrow. I want you to promise in the meantime, though, that if you come upon me unawares, or when I'm asleep, or under any circumstances whatever, you will turn your head away and not look at my face."