“Is this the proper way to invade a sick man’s room?” demanded Alex with a grin.
“But my pants,” Ike said excitedly; “the wet ones.”
“Want to put them on and imagine you’re drowning again?” grinned the invalid.
“All my money is in the seat of them pants, you understand,” Ike explained. “Maybe it’s no good now.”
“I think your pants are in that wet heap over in the corner,” Alex said, roused to interest.
Ike pounced upon the wet heap and quickly finding the valuable garment ripped the seat open with his knife. “It’s all right,” he cried in joy. “It is all wet, you understand, I’ll spread it out on the floor and it soon be dry.”
Alex watched him curiously as Ike separated the wet bills and spread them out to dry. He was amazed at the amount the little Jew had been carrying about his person. Idly, he figured up the amount as Ike spread out each bill. When Ike spread out the last one with a sigh of satisfaction, Alex lay back and did some mental figuring. He repeated the operation again. The result was the same. If they had all taken up the offer the little Jew had made and all have gone home, Ike would have been left alone in this strange, fearsome land with less than ten dollars in his pocket. Alex felt a fresh respect for the pluck and determination of this lad no bigger than himself. He would have liked to express this sentiment but he detested open displays of emotion, so he merely growled.
“I’m sorry I hit you so hard on the jaw.”
“That’s all right,” said Ike, cheerfully, as he felt tenderly of the lump. Some day when we both feel better we fight it out with fists, you understand?”
Alex’s stout little heart warmed to him. Who had said a Jew would not fight, he wondered.