He was already on the threshold, but Roger sauntered after him. “Hold on a bit—four days ago you came to me in something of a pickle.”
“You bet your iron works I did,” replied Bonny.
“I helped you out of it.”
“I guess you did.”
“For four evenings you have come here and helped me, and I am going to pay you well for it.”
“Glory on your head, you are,” said Bonny, wildly.
“In these four days,” continued Roger, “you have been early at the bank—you have done your work faithfully there. You have not shirked.”
“Not a hair’s breadth, and mighty tired I am of it. I’m sick of reformation. I’m going to be just as bad as I can be. Hurrah for Hickey’s,” and he was just about darting off, when Roger caught him by the arm.
“Listen to me for a minute. I ask you to give me one day more. Stay here with me to-night. Do your work as usual. Go home to bed. Fill in to-morrow properly, then in the evening, at this time, if you want to go back to your old silly tricks, go. I wash my hands of you.”