Once the Pilot discovered such a boy in the bar-room of a Bemidji saloon.
“Where’s your money?” he demanded.
“’N my pocket.”
“Hand it over,” said the Pilot.
“Ain’t going to.”
“Yes, you are; and you’re going to do it quick. Come out of this!”
Cowed by these large words, the boy yielded to the grip of Higgins’s big hand, and was led away a little. Then the bartender leaned over the bar. A gambler or two lounged toward the group. There was a pregnant pause.
“Look here, Higgins,” said the bartender, “what business is this of yours, anyhow?”
“What business–of mine?” asked the astounded Pilot.
“Yes; what you buttin’ in for?”