"Well, I suppose if you insist on it, I must," he said. "I'll give you what I have, but I won't promise you any more."
"Hand it over," was Stumpy's laconic reply. He probably thought half a loaf better than no bread, at all.
With a heavy sigh Mr. Woodward drew the roll of bills from his pocket and began to count them over. I was eager to catch sight of them. I stood on tiptoe and peered into the window. It was an interesting scene; the sour look upon the merchant's face; the look of greed in the tramp's eye. In a moment the counting was finished.
"A hundred and seventy dollars," said Mr. Aaron Woodward. "Here you are." And he held them out. Stumpy almost snatched them from his hand.
"There, now that's settled," he said. "Now about—What was that?"
A noise had disturbed him. While absorbed in what the two were doing I had given an involuntary cough.
"Somebody listening," he declared as he thrust the money into his pocket.
"We ought to be more careful."
"Only some one coughing in the next room," returned Mr. Woodward. "Don't get scared."
"I ain't scared, but I don't want other folks to know my business. Reckon you don't either."