“I’ll care for him as well as I can if he comes along with the show. You bring him to the train like I told you and I’ll do what I can. That’s our practice in the show business. If he can’t do that he’ll have to quit.”
“Quit!” exclaimed Mr. Trevor, his cheeks flushing. “Do you mean to say you’ll not only abandon him but discharge him too?”
“What’s it to you?” broke in the man angrily. “Ain’t you mixin’ up a little in our affairs? If you don’t like my way of doin’ things, go about your own business!”
“My business,” replied Mr. Trevor calmly, “is looking after other people’s business, sometimes. I can see that this boy has possibly been killed in your service and while engaged in a task that no reasonable employer would demand or permit. Should he die, I shall make it my business to look up his parents or relatives. If he lives and is incapacitated in any way you may expect to hear from me. It will cost you more in damages than decent care of him will now cost you.”
The man winced and grew white with anger.
“What he done was voluntary,” he hastened to answer. “An’ as far as damage suits goes—that’s up to you and him. But I’ll bet you this: I didn’t start in the show business yesterday. This kid’s under contract with me all signed and witnessed, both him and his machine. When he pulls off his act he gets his money. When he don’t show up there ain’t nothin’ doin’. What he done this afternoon was his own lookout. I didn’t ask him. If you’ll figure out for me just why I should go on a-payin’ him when his rotten old machine breaks, you’re quite some figurer.”
Mr. Trevor was trembling with rage and contempt.
“How much a day do you pay him?” he asked at last.
“None o’ your business.”