“But that suit of clothes you have on your back now came from our house since then,” said the clerk.
“That’s so,” returned Guy. “I forgot that. But it beats me how these bills do run up.”
“Yes; one can’t get dry goods for nothing in these times. Are you going to ante?”
“Not now. I can’t.”
“Oh, that’s played out. Come down!” said the clerk, extending his hand toward Guy and rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Short settlements make long friends. Pay me now.”
“But I tell you I can’t. I haven’t a cent of money.”
“Now, Harris,” said the clerk, raising his voice, “permit me to say that this thing is getting monotonous. If you don’t pay, and that too in short order, we’ll snatch you bald-headed.”
“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Guy, in great excitement. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can. Tell Mr. Warren that I’ll call and see him about this bill.”
“All right. If you know which side of your bread is buttered you won’t waste time in doing it. The old man talks of sending your bill to Mr. Walker.”
The clerk departed, and his place was almost immediately filled by Dutch Jake, who entered with an air which said very plainly that he wasn’t going to stand any nonsense. Guy’s heart sunk within him.