“I was wonderin’ how I was goin’ to be able to put any money in that savin’s-account of mine to-morrer.”
“Oh! And how much will bind the bargain?”
“Suppose we was to say five dollars.”
Wiggamore grunted and handed over a bill. I felt Mark pinch me, and he whispered:
“Workin’ cheap, hain’t he? I hain’t much afraid of a f-f-feller that’ll sell his d-decency for f-five dollars. Now if he’d ’a’ stuck Wiggamore for a hunderd I’d been some worried. About all Jason’s goin’ to be is a nuisance—that and sorry.”
“I’d admire to make him sorry,” says I.
“Jest be p-patient. Jason’s goin’ to wisht he never see or heard of Wiggamore and his f-f-five-dollar bills. I’m goin’ to do some hard thinkin’ about Jason.” Then he says: “Come on. I calc’late we’ve heard about all there is to hear.”
“Wonder if Silas Doolittle really owes anybody money?”
“Most likely. He wouldn’t know, though. We got to go diggin’ into him for d-d-debts like you dig in a mine. Maybe we’ll scoop some up, and maybe we’ll just have to wait till they t-turn up.” He stopped and banged his leg. “No, we won’t have to w-wait. We’ll sort of nip Mr. Wiggamore’s scheme in the bud.”
“How?” says I.