"That is the idea," said Judson Green, patiently. "You are to take it and change it—and I will trail behind you to see what happens. I'm merely making an experiment, with your help, and I'm willing to pay for it."
"This money ain't counterfeit?" inquired the raggedy one. "This ain't no game to git me in bad?"
"Well, isn't it worth taking a chance on?" cross-fired Green. The pimpled expanse of face lost some of its doubt, and the owner of the face fetched a deep breath.
"You're on," he decided. "Where'bouts'll I start?"
"Anywhere you please," Judson Green told him. "You said you were hungry—that for two days you hadn't eaten a bite?"
"Aw, boss, that was part of the spiel," he confessed frankly. "Right now I'm that full of beef stew I couldn't hold another bite."
"Well, how about a drink? A long, cool glass of beer, say? Or anything you please."
The temporary custodian of the one-thousand-dollar bill mentally considered this pleasing project; his bleared eye glinted brighter.
"Naw," he said, "not jist yit. If it's all the same to you, boss, I'll wait until I gits a good thirst on me. I think I'll go into that show yonder, to start on." He pointed a finger towards a near-by amusement enterprise. This institution had opened years before as "The Galveston Flood." Then, with some small scenic changes, it had become "The Mount Pelee Disaster," warranted historically correct in all details; now it was "The Messina Earthquake," no less. Its red and gold gullet of an entrance yawned hungrily, not twenty yards from where they stood.
"Go ahead," ordered Judson Green, confirming the choice with a nod. "And remember, my friend, I will be right behind you."