“Yes, to-day.”
“Won’t to-morrow do?” he says, laying a twenty dollar bill down on the table where we was sitting.
“Green goods?” says I, picking up the bill.
“Not much,” says he, laughing. “I guess you know what green goods amounts to as well as I do, Reilly,”—Reilly was the name I give him when we first began to talk.
“To-morrow won’t do. I’m on the case to-day,” I says, “but to-morrow I’ve got to go to Boston, and they may put on another man when I tell them I saw you trying to scoop in a sucker at the Van Dyke.”
“But you won’t tell ’em?” he says.
“Oh, I’ll have to,” says I. “How do I know that some other feller wasn’t watching me same as I was watching you?”
He looked kind of nervous and bothered like, and I knew why.
“Look here, boss,” I says, “how long do you want?”
“Only about an hour,” he says eager like, “and then I’ll be ready to move, and there’ll be a hundred dollars dropped anywheres you say.”