Hazen had a letter to write and he bent to it. I sat by the stove and watched him and considered. He had not yet finished the letter when we heard Marshey returning. His dragging feet on the stair were unmistakable. At the sound of his weary feet some tide of indignation surged up in me. I was minded to do violence to Hazen Kinch. But again a deeper impulse held my hand from the man.
Marshey came in and his weary eyes wandered about the room. They inspected the floor; they inspected me; they inspected Hazen Kinch’s table, and they rose at last humbly to Hazen Kinch.
“Well?” said Hazen.
“I lost a dollar,” Marshey told him. “I ’lowed I might have dropped it here.”
Hazen frowned.
“You told me eleven-fifty was all you had.”
“This here dollar wa’n’t mine.”
The money-lender laughed.
“Likely! Who would give you a dollar? You lied to me; or you’re lying now. I don’t believe you lost a dollar.”
Marshey reiterated weakly: “I lost a dollar.”