Clay glanced at the fellow steadily. He had now in a measure recovered his equilibrium. His impulse was to smash a blow into the grinning face bent over him.
He didn’t like the black, matted beard. He objected to the greasy, frayed jacket. The man’s snaky, near-set eyes offended him. More than once he drew back a clenched fist to strike the evil face.
“It seems to me,” the boy said, restraining himself with a great effort, “that I walked right into a den and found the snakes at home.”
“Yes, little one,” the man replied, “We sort of dipped you up in a bottle. I bet my chum, here, a dollar that he wouldn’t get you the first time he tried. I lose, so you’d better pass out the dough and I’ll pay up. I always pay my sporting debts.”
“Perhaps you’d better take the whole roll,” Clay said, producing a small handful of change and passing it over. “You’ll get it in time, anyway.”
The man took the money, counted it slowly with clumsy fingers and thrust it into a pocket.
“As long as you have money, you know,” Clay said sneeringly, “you won’t have to be taking pennies away from children or stealing from blind men. You’re quite welcome to what I have.”
“You just cut that stuff quick,” snarled the man rising to his feet, his face blotching red. “Cut that quick!”
He might have struck the boy only his companion drew him away.
“Keep back, you fool,” the cooler man said, “Do you want him to bring all the others here with his yelping? Why, we can’t even shoot him till sundown, so we’d better gag him to keep him from squealing.”