“'All right,' says I, cheerful. 'Then I'll give you a slip of paper sayin' that you've bought such and such slices of pork and hunks of johnnycake and I'm carryin' 'em for you on a margin. Of course there ain't no delivery of the goods now because—'
“'Humph!' he interrupts, sour. 'You seem to know more'n I thought you did. Now are you goin' to be decent and make me a fair price or ain't you?'
“'Can't sell under the latest quotations,' says I. 'That's five now; and spot cash.'
“'But hang it all!' he says, 'I haven't got money enough with me. Think I carry a national bank around in my clothes?'
“'You carry a Wellmouth Bank check book,' says I, 'because I see it in your jacket pocket last night when I was dryin' your duds. I'll take a check.'
“He started to say somethin' and then stopped. After a spell he seemed to give in all to once.
“'Very good,' he says. 'You get my breakfast ready and I'll make out the check.'
“That breakfast cost him twenty-five dollars; thirty really, because he added another five for an extry cup of coffee. I told him to make the check payable to 'Bearer,' as 'twas quicker to write than 'Solomon.'
“He had two more meals that day and at bedtime I had his checks amountin' to ninety-five dollars. The fog stayed with us all the time and nobody come to pick us up. And the next mornin's outlook was just as bad, bein' a drizzlin' rain and a high wind. The mainland beach was in sight but that's all except salt water and rain.
“He was surprisin'ly cheerful all that day, eatin' like a horse and givin' up his meal checks without a whimper. If things had been different from what they was I'd have felt like a mean sneak thief. BEIN' as they was, I counted up the hundred and ten I'd made that day without a pinch of conscience.