"Are you going to keep him always, dad?"
"I ought to turn him over to the town, but folks would talk. There's a man in New York that his father said would send for him. I don't know whether he will or not. There's a matter of fifty dollars due to me for burying John Lillis. That's the way I get imposed upon."
Philip kept on his way to the saloon. He was a timid, sensitive boy, and he shrank from going into the place which was generally filled with rough men. Two miners were leaning against the front of the wooden shanty used for the sale of liquor when Philip appeared.
As he passed in one said to the other, "Well, I'll be jiggered if here isn't a kid comin' for his liquor. I say, kid, what do you want?"
"Some whisky," answered Philip timidly.
"How old are you?"
"Ten."
"I say, young 'un, you're beginnin' early."
"I don't want it for myself," returned Philip half indignantly.
"Oh, no, of course not. You won't take a sip yourself, of course not."