"Yes, I am, Bugg. Throw it away."
"Now, when did you expect a man to get so rich as to fling away his property? Doesn't the Scripture say, 'Waste not, for to-morrow you may die?' Grab a-hold of her, Joe, and patch her up. All you've got to do is to put leather where there ain't none."
"Yes, all I've got to do is to build a boot in the air."
"Well, but ain't that your business, hah?"
"Yes, if I'm paid for it; but you haven't paid for the last pair of shoes I half-soled. And you said you'd pay on the following Wednesday."
"Did I say that? But I didn't tell you pointedly. You can always count on me when I tell you pointedly. A man that won't pay when he tells you pointedly is a liar. Whose boots are them right there—them old ones? They'd just about fit my son-in-law. Yes, Sir; and he can put 'em on and come up to town and enjoy himself. What will you take for 'em, Joe?"
"Two dollars, Bugg."
"Cheap enough, and I'll take 'em. Pass 'em over."
"But when will you pay for them?"
"Let me see. I'll pay for 'em Thursday."