"I've got nearly three hundred dollars in cash with me. I'll give you fifty of it if you'll go home and say you couldn't find me."
"Thank you; I'm not doing business that way," I rejoined coldly.
"Fifty dollars ain't to be sneezed at," he went on insinuatingly.
"I wouldn't care if you offered me fifty thousand," I cried sharply. "I'm no thief."
"Humph; don't you suppose I know who you are?" he went on. "You're the son of a thief. Do you hear that?—the son of a thief! What right have you got to set yourself up to be any better than your father was afore you?"
"Take care!" I cried, my blood fairly boiling as I spoke. He saw his mistake.
"I didn't mean no harm, partner. But what's the use of being high toned when it don't pay?"
"It always pays to be honest," I said firmly.
"There are those who don't think so any more than I," he replied.
"My father never was a thief. They may say all they please, I will always think him innocent."