“You got any money?”
“A little,” said Potter eagerly. “I’ll give you all I’ve got.”
He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew it forth with a collection of small change.
“There,” he said, counting it over. “It’s seventy-five cents.”
The brakeman took it.
“That all you got, honest to God?”
“Every cent. I can get more at Mississippi City, though. You going to be there a few hours?”
“Huh,” replied the other, “guess you’ll need breakfast by the time you get in. Ain’t much used to this kind o’ business, eh? Well, here’s coffee money.” He handed back a dime.
“Have a drink, old man?” asked Potter, almost jovially, pulling out his bottle with a distinct feeling of pride.
“Sure.”