“Where do you expect to git it?”
“Don’t know. Got to t-t-think.”
“Then do it quick,” says I. “Time’s flyin’.”
“’Tain’t no use to try to b-borrow,” says he. “And if we did that’s jest p-puttin’ off trouble. We’d have to pay sometime. If we got to p-pay sometime, we might as well pay now.”
“Sure,” says I, sarcastic as vinegar. “That’s the way I feel. You jest hand me the money and I’ll run down and pay it.”
“Plunk,” says he, “the only part of your head that’s alive is your l-l-lower jaw. If you can’t help, don’t hinder.” Then he looked at me and grinned and says: “Now I hadn’t ought to have spoke that way, but I was worried and bothered and it jest s-slipped out. I know you’re helpin’ all you kin, and will be right there to back me up in the p-pinch. You hain’t mad about what I said, be you?”
Well, I was a mite hot, but what was a fellow to do when he spoke that way? It was my fault, anyhow, and I see that right off.
“Course I hain’t,” says I. “I got what was comin’ to me. I’ll shut up and obey orders.”
“Let’s see,” says he, “how does f-folks raise money? They b-borrow it or sell somethin’ and git it, or have it given to ’em—or else they hustle around and m-make it. We can’t borrow. We hain’t got n-nothin’ to sell, and nobody’s goin’ to give it to us. The only way l-left is to m-make it. That’s what we got to study over.”
“Five hunderd dollars in twenty-four hours!” says Binney.