Warren was waiting. "I'll bet you didn't bring a cigar," he said, tossing a cob pipe on the table.
"You've lost," Lyman replied, rolling out a handful of cigars upon a pile of newspapers.
Warren reached over, his eyes snapping. "Gold bands," he said. "Oh, I knew you would bring them if they were to be had. You are all right, Samuel," he added, striking a match. "Yes, sir, but I have been sitting up here, almost envious of the good time you were having. However, I was not sorry that I had not faced the Hon. S. Boyd. He frowned at me the last time we met. I can stand to be dunned once in awhile, but I don't like to be frowned at. Did he say anything about the money I owe him?"
"Well," said Lyman, leaning back in his chair, "the subject was mentioned."
"What, the old skinflint! Did he blurt it out before everybody?"
"No. He talked to me privately."
"Well, I am glad he had that much consideration. But why did he want to speak of it at all? I suppose you told him I'd pay it as soon as I could, didn't you?"
"Yes, I told him so."
"Well, then, what more does he want? No man can pay a debt before he can. There are in this town some of the queerest people I ever saw. They expect a man to pay a debt whether he's got the money or not. I'll pay that fellow and tire him to death with meeting him afterward. I'll cross the street a dozen times a day to shake hands with him. Yes, sir, I'll make him wish that I owed him."
"He sent you this," said Lyman, handing over the five dollars.