“Do you want to sell that watch?” asked the doctor suddenly.
The old man looked up at him sharply, the shadow of his nose falling long upon his slanting paper.
“You go to thunder!” said he. 169
“No,” said Slavens without showing offense. “I want that watch for a few hours, and I’ll pay you for it if you want to let me have it.”
He drew out a roll of money as thick as the old man’s thin neck, and stood with it in his hand. The old man slipped the leather thong from his buttonhole and laid the watch on the board in front of him.
“It cost me a dollar two or three years ago”–what was a year to him in his fruitless life, anyway?–“and if you want to give me a dollar for it now you can take it.”
Slavens took up the timepiece after putting down the required price.
“I paid for my bed in advance, you remember?” said he.
The old clerk nodded, his dull eye on the pocket into which all that money had disappeared.
“Well, I’m going out for a while, and I may not be back. That’s all.”