“I got nothin’ do with that.” His words were low, but very distinct.
Thereupon Richling laughed, leaning his cheek against the post.
“Must provide for the present,” said Raphael Ristofalo. Richling dropped his eyes in thought. The present! He had never been able to see that it was the present which must be provided against, until, while he was training his guns upon the future, the most primitive wants of the present burst upon him right and left like whooping savages.
“Can you lend me dollar?” asked the Italian. “Give you back dollar an’ quarter to-morrow.”
Richling gave a start and let go the post. “Why, Mr. Risto—falo, I—I—, the fact is, I”—he shook his head—“I haven’t much money.”
“Dollar will start me,” said the Italian, whose feet had not moved an inch since he touched Richling’s shoulder. “Be aw righ’ to-morrow.”
“You can’t invest one dollar by itself,” said the incredulous Richling.
“Yes. Return her to-morrow.”
Richling swung his head from side to side as an expression of disrelish. “I haven’t been employed for some time.”
“I goin’ t’employ myself,” said Ristofalo.