Wyeth did some counting. "I have ten fifty. Will they let me out on that?"
"I think so."
"What you goin' do 'bout me?" put in the chauffeur.
"Do about you!" said Wyeth. "What you going to do about yourself? I'm not your guardian."
"But I ain' got bu' fifty cents," he wailed despairingly.
"Then methinks you will sleep on Dalton street tonight."
They had arrived at the station by this time. Wyeth recalled a few hours before with a feeling of awe, as he recognized the place and the words the man had used.
"What's your name?" demanded the clerk of the chauffeur.
"Boise Demon."
"Yours!"