"Going home, eh?" said he. "It's a long, cold ride home."
"That's the first truth you've said," I answered. "And for showing me you can do it I'll offer you my grateful thanks."
I began to put on my gloves, he standing in the doorway watching.
"To break the journey with a little bit of dinner might be a good idea."
"It might," I said, "if anybody had it."
"I have it. I've had it all day."
"What's the good of having it if you haven't got the price." I picked up my satchel and looked cool and pitying at him. "Unless you're calculating to take me to the bread line."
"There you wrong me," he answered. "Nothing but the best for you," and putting his hand into his vest pocket he drew out a roll of bills, folding them back one by one and giving each a name, "Canvas back, terrapin, champagne, oyster crabs, alligator pears, anything the lady calls for."
Those greenbacks, flirted over so carelessly by his strong, brown fingers, gave me the horrors. Blood money! I drew back. If he hadn't been blocking up the entrance, I think I'd have quit it and made a break for the open. He glanced up and saw my face, and I guess it looked queer.
"What are you staring so for? They're not counterfeit."