"Throw it in the manger."
McNutt selected a volume that had a broken corner and laid it carefully on the edge of the oat-bin. Then he put his money in his pocket and turned away.
"Morn'n' to ye, Mr. Merrick."
"Stop a bit," said Uncle John, suddenly.
The agent stopped.
"I believe I paid you ten dollars for Miss Ethel Thompson's services. Is that correct?"
"Ye—yes, Mr. Merrick."
McNutt's heart was in his shoes and he looked guiltily at his accuser, the pale blue eyes bulging fearfully.
"Very well; see that she gets it."
"Of course, Mr. Merrick."