The man in the oily duster looked over his specks. Then he kicked the splintered side of the unfortunate soap box. “Fixed!” he repeated, sending the word out with a hiss from the corner of his mouth. “What do you think this is?”
“Oh, I was down to Sam’s and I thought I’d just ask,” put in Tom humbly.
“Did-ju see Sam?”
“No. He’s not around.”
“Well, y’u better wait. He’s a-huntin’ fer y’u.”
“What for? What does he want?” demanded Tom.
Abner Nash stuck his hands deep into the duster pockets. “Somethin’ lost, I guess,” he muttered.
“Oh,” said Tom. He was holding the two green bills Gloria had given him, very tightly in his hand and his hand was in his pocket.
“When do y’u want the wheel?” asked Abner.
“Quick as I can get it.”