Fred winced painfully under that steady, half-ugly glance of the other.
"And now," continued Scammon, in a half-hurt way, "ye think it's hard if I tell ye that I want a few dollars to keep food in my insides."
"You've got your father," hinted Fred.
"Sure, I have," Tip assented.
"But it's mighty little he'll do for me until I get a job and settle down to it."
"Well, why don't you?" asked Fred Ripley. "That's the surest way to get straight with the world."
"When I want advice," sneered Scammon, "I won't tramp all the way out here, an' ask you for it. Nope. I don't want advice. What I want is money."
"Oh, well, Tip, I'm sorry for you and your troubles. Here's a dollar for you. I wish I could make it more."
Fred Ripley drew out the greenback, passing it over. Tip took the money, studying it curiously.
"Ye're sorry just a dollar's worth—-is that it? Well, old pal, ye'll have to be more sorry'n that. I'll let ye off fer ten dollars, but hand it over quick!"