“I wouldn’t go back there,” the kid said. “I’ll give you as much as a thousand dollars——”
Gee whiz, he was a generous kid. I said, “Give us a cigarette, will you?”
Good night, he pulled about three packages out of his pocket. He was a walking cigar store. Some of the cigarettes were loose and all crunched up. I took one of them and stuck it in my mouth.
Westy said, kind of surprised, “What are you doing?”
I said, “We should worry. We’re criminals, aren’t we? We’re up for arson and we’re out on patrol or parole or whatever you call it. We’re going from bad to worse. Got a match, kid?”
Oh, boy! He dug his hand into his pocket and fished out about a hundred. They fell all over the floor.
I said, “You’ve got matches enough here to set the river on fire.”
Pretty soon out came a big pasteboard box like matches come in. It was half full, and matches went falling out of it, all over the ground.
I said, “The next time you empty your pockets, kid, you’d better stand in a bath tub. You don’t carry a fire extinguisher with you, do you? What are you digging for now? The thousand dollars?”
“I got a cigar,” the kid said; “but it’s busted.”