“Well, I allus git eight dollars for the day,” Mr. Archer pondered aloud, “but I d’know as I’ll charge you that. You seem ter be a kind of right decent youngster. You come over and git the rig—when is it?”
“On the twenty-fifth,” said Wilfred.
“And we’ll say five dollars, on’y don’t you go lettin’ on ter them folks ter the camp what I done; that’s just twixt me and you. I got a kind of a likin’ ter you, that’s why.”
“That’s just the same with me,” Wilfred laughed. “I’ve got a kind of a liking to him—Pop Winters, I mean. I was good and scared coming home; I was afraid I’d made a promise I couldn’t keep, maybe.”
“Well, yer hain’t sceered now, be ye?”
“Do—do you want me to give you the five dollars now? I guess I will because maybe I might lose it.”
“No, if you give it ter me I might spend it,” said Mr. Archer.
“Well, anyway, I guess I won’t lose it,” said Wilfred, “because I’ve got it pinned to my shirt, inside.”
“I wouldn’ know ye was one of them scouts, ye don’t wear none of them furbishings,” Mr. Archer commented.
“I’m going to get a scout suit next summer, I guess,” Wilfred said.