"Raise your price, Jim," said Snyder. "A hundred wouldn't take me very far."
"Oh yes, it will; I propose buying your ticket myself."
Snyder laughed his ugly laugh.
"Well, you ain't very complimentary. You'd ought to have invited me to your party the other night, Jim. I'd like to have seen you doing stunts as a king. That was the worst,"—he wagged his head and chuckled. "A king, a real king, and your picture put into the papers along of the millionaire's daughter,—well, you may damn me!"
"What I'll do," Wheaton went on undisturbed, "is to buy you a ticket to Spokane to-morrow. I'll meet you here and give you your transportation and a hundred dollars in cash. Now that's all I'll do for you, and it's a lot more than you deserve."
"Oh, no it ain't," said Snyder.
"And it's the last I'll ever do."
"Don't be too sure of that. I want five hundred and a regular allowance, say twenty-five dollars a month."
"I don't intend to fool with you," said Wheaton sharply. He rose and picked up his hat. "What I offer you is out of pure kindness; we may as well understand each other. You and I are walking along different lines. I'd be glad to see you succeed in some honorable business; you're not too old to begin. I can't have you around here. It's out of the question—my giving you a pension. I can't do anything of the kind."