He picked up his trousers then, and took out his fat leather wallet.
'Lock the door,' he whispered.
'Pop goes the weasel!' he exclaimed, good-naturedly, and then he began counting the bills.
'I'm not going to take any more of your money, Uncle Eb,' I said.
'Tut, tut!' said he, 'don't ye try t' interfere. What d' ye think they'll charge in the city fer a reel, splendid suit?'
He stopped and looked up at me.
'Probably as much as fifty dollars,' I answered.
'Whew-w-w!' he whistled. 'Patty steep! It is sartin.'
'Let me go as I am,' said I. 'Time enough to have a new suit when I've earned it.'
'Wall,' he said, as he continued counting, 'I guess you've earnt it already. Ye've studied hard an' tuk first honours an' yer goin' where folks are purty middlin' proud'n haughty. I want ye t' be a reg'lar high stepper, with a nice, slick coat. There,' he whispered, as he handed me the money, 'take thet! An' don't ye never tell 'at I g'in it t' ye.'