"What sort of a fellow is he?"
"Oh, he's a sneak—one of your pious chaps, that 'wants to be an angel, and with the angels stand.'"
"Then he's made a mistake in turning 'devil,'" said Clapp.
"Good for you!" said Luke, laughing. "You're unusually brilliant to-night, Clapp."
"So he's a saint, is he?"
"He set up for one; but I don't like his style myself. He's as mean as dirt. Why I knew him several months, and he never offered to treat in all that time. He's as much afraid of spending a cent as if it were a dollar."
"He won't have many dollars to spend just at present. He's working for his board."
"Oh, he's got money saved up," said Luke. "Fellows like him hang on to a cent when they get it. I once asked him to lend me a few dollars, just for a day or two, but he wouldn't do it. I hate such mean fellows."
"So do I. Will you have a cigar?"
"I'll treat this time," said Luke, who thought it polite to take his turn in treating once to his companion's four or five times.