Hazen nodded.
“Mind now,” he exclaimed, and Marshey said: “I’ll do my best, Mr. Kinch.”
Then he turned and shuffled across the room and out into the hall and we heard him descending the stairs.
When he was gone I asked Hazen casually: “What was it that he dropped upon the table?”
“A dollar,” said Hazen promptly. “A dollar bill. The miserable fool!”
Hazen’s mental processes were always of interest to me.
“You mean to give it back to him?” I asked.
He stared at me and laughed. “No! If he can’t take care of his own money—that’s why he is what he is.”
“Still, it is his money.”
“He owes me more than that.”