"Dollar a day."
"Done."
So Nig was hired out, Spot was sold for twenty dollars, and Red later for fifteen.
"Well," said the Colonel when they went in, "I didn't know you were so smart. But you can't live here on Nig's seven dollars a week."
The Boy shook his head. Their miserable canned and salted fare cost about four dollars a day per man.
"I'm goin' to take Nig's tip," he said—"goin' to work."
Easier said than done. In their high rubber boots they splashed about Rampart in the mild, thawing weather, "tryin' to scare up a job," as one of them stopped to explain to every likely person: "Yes, sah, lookin' for any sort of honourable employment till the ice goes out."
"Nothin' doin'."
"Everything's at a standstill."
"Just keepin' body and soul together myself till the boats come in."