“You've got a soft thing,” grumbled Brown. “You go round and have a good time while I am tied down to this fourth-rate tavern in the woods.”
“Well, it isn't much more than that,” said Warner, musingly.
“Do you expect me to keep a first-class hotel?” demanded Brown, defiantly.
“No, of course not. Brown,” continued Warner, soothingly, “don't let us quarrel; we can't afford it. Let us talk together reasonably.”
“What have you to say?”
“This, that it isn't my fault if things have gone wrong. Was it my fault that we found so little cash in that last store we broke open?”
“Nineteen dollars!” muttered Brown, contemptuously.
“Nineteen dollars, as you say. It didn't pay us for our trouble. Well, I was as sorry as you. I fail to see how it was my fault. Better luck next time.”
“When is the next time to be?” asked Brown, somewhat placated.
“As soon as you please.”