“I didn’t have but two bits, Mas’ Wayne, and I went an’ spent that long time ago.”
“You see,” said Wayne, turning to the proprietor, “we don’t live here. We’re just—just passing through on our way to New York, and so we couldn’t very well pay you later.” He looked dubiously at the array of property before him. “I reckon there ain’t anything there worth twenty cents, is there?”
“Not to me, I guess.”
“Then—then you’ll just have to keep Sam until we can bring the money,” said Wayne desperately. “I reckon we can earn it somewhere. Will you please to do that, sir?”
The man looked covetously at the dog, but shook his head. “Shucks,” he answered, “he’d only be unhappy. And so would you, I guess. You run along, fellers. It’s all right. I guess you’ll pay me when you can, eh? Only—say, now, honest, kid, did you really have that four dollars, or are you just stringing me?”
Wayne flushed but met the man’s gaze squarely. “I had it,” he replied simply. “You haven’t any call to think I’m lying.”
“All right! I believe you. Now, look here, do you really want to earn a half-dollar?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ever washed windows?”
Wayne shook his head. “No, but I reckon I could do it.”