“I didn't say I wasn't taking any risk with you,” he replied tersely. “That's the profit on my risk. And as far as you are concerned—it's none of your business!”
Calhoun shrugged his shoulders in turn, and, taking a small roll of bills from his pocket, smoothed them out between his fingers.
“I got a wife, and I got kids,” said Calhoun slowly. “And I'm doing the best I can. Do you want this forty, or not?”
“It depends,” said Kirschell, tapping again with his paper cutter. “How about the rest?”
“I'll pay you what I can every month,” Calhoun answered.
“How much?”—bluntly.
“What I can!” returned Calhoun defiantly.
The two men eyed each other for a moment—and then Kirschell tossed the paper cutter down on the desk.
“Well, all right!” he decided ungraciously. “I'll take a chance for a month—and see how you live up to it. Hand it over, and I'll give you a receipt.”
Calhoun shook his head.