“My dear sir, I hoped you won’t misjudge me on account of my unfortunately leaving my money at home.”
“I only wish to tell you that I have not been taken in by your plausible statement, Mr. Wheeler, if that is really your name. Before we started for the theater I had gauged you and taken your measure.”
“Sir, I hope you don’t mean to insult me!” blustered Wheeler.
“Not at all. You have been mistaken in me, but I am not mistaken in you. I judge you to be a gentlemanly adventurer, ready to take advantage of any who have money and are foolish enough to be gulled by your tricks. You are welcome to the profit you made out of the theater tickets, also to the little supper to which you have done so much justice. I must request you, now, however, to devote yourself to some one else, as I do not care to meet you again.”
Louis Wheeler slunk away, deciding that he had made a great mistake in setting down his Montana acquaintance as an easy victim.
“I didn’t think he’d get on to my little game so quick,” he reflected. “He’s sharper than he looks.”
Rodney took breakfast with Mr. Pettigrew the next morning. When breakfast was over, the Montana man said:
“I’m going to make a proposal to you, Rodney. How much pay did you get at your last place?”
“Seven dollars a week.”
“I’ll pay you that and give you your meals. In return I want you to keep me company and go about with me.”