“Well, these windows need washing pretty badly. Generally I do it myself, but I’d rather take a lickin’. There’s eight of ’em and it ought to be worth five cents a window. That’s forty cents, but we’ll call it fifty. What do you say?”
“I’ll do them, thanks, and mighty glad to,” answered Wayne eagerly.
“Huh!” ejaculated June. “Go on away from here, Mas’ Wayne. You ain’ never washed no window in your life. White man, point me out to water and rags and let me to it. Mas’ Wayne ain’ never done no work like that an’ there ain’ no call for him to do any.” June paused and looked at the windows. “Mister Denny, them’s pretty big windows an’ they certainly is dirty, ain’ they?”
“What’s the matter with you? Ain’t fifty cents enough?”
“Well, sir,” answered June slowly, “it is an’ it ain’. Takin’ into estimation the size of them windows an’ the ’mount of washin’ required, sir, it seems like you might throw in two more cups of that yere coffee, sir!”
“Junius, you’re all right!” laughed the man, turning to the gleaming coffee urn. “It’s a bargain. Drink your coffee and then get to work. If you do a good job I’ll throw in a sandwich when you’re through!”
[CHAPTER III]
THE SEARCH FOR WORK
Two hours later the boys, followed by Sam, left the lunch-wagon, possessed of thirty cents in money and with all liabilities discharged. Wayne, declaring that, although he had never washed a window in his life, it was time he learned how, had, to June’s disgust, taken a hand in the work, and, while he had done only three windows to June’s five, had proved his ability. Afterward, Mr. Dennis Connor—for that, as they later learned, was his real name—had provided a collation of sandwiches and coffee and dismissed them with his good wishes and an invitation to drop in again when they were passing.