“Go ahead,” said Tom.
The job was accomplished, and Tom thrust his hand into his pocket.
“What’s to pay?” he asked.
“A quarter.”
“What?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
“Do you think I’ll pay such a price as that?” asked Tom indignantly.
“Reg’lar price, mister,” said the unprincipled young rascal, who knew from Tom’s appearance that he was a stranger. “Reg’lar price, isn’t it, Micky?”
“’Course it is,” said the confederate. “You don’t live in the city, mister, or you’d know.”
But Tom’s sharp eyes detected a gentleman near him paying ten cents for a similar service, and he quietly tendered the same amount to the boy.