As Gus asked himself this question an expression of alarm settled on his face. He ran quickly to the door, and looking down the street saw that Sam was just disappearing in the cigar store on the corner. The boy’s heart began to beat a little faster, for he knew now, as well as he did five minutes later, what it was that took Sam to Mr. Meyers’s place of business. He stood in the door until Sam came out, and then he retreated behind his counter and employed himself in straightening up the goods on the shelves.
“Gus,” said Sam, when he had hung his hat in its accustomed place, “lie, number one thousand and one, is nailed. Meyers says he hasn’t seen you to-day.”
“Suppose he hasn’t!” snapped Gus, who had been caught in so many falsehoods that he had become used to it.
“Why don’t you tell the truth once in a while?” continued Sam; “say once a week, or even once a month, if you can’t stand it any oftener. You will get so, pretty soon, that nobody will believe a word you say.”
“Why don’t you keep from sticking your nose into matters that don’t concern you?” exclaimed Gus, angrily.
“This matter does concern me. Now, I want to know what has become of that money you drew to-day.”
“It is none of your business. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I understand it,” said Sam, so quietly that Gus looked at him in surprise.
“Then you may as well understand another thing, while you are about it,” continued the latter, “and that is, that from this time out you are to attend to your own affairs and let me entirely alone. What I do with my money is none of your business.”
“I generally do attend to my own affairs,” replied Sam, “and I shall attend to yours in a way you don’t think of. You haven’t started for Texas, yet!”