"Well, he wasn't a-tellin' me." Mr. Gibney's tones were ominous; he glared at his friend suspiciously as from the Maggie's cabin issued forth Scraggsy's voice raised in song.
"Hello! The old boy's thermometer's gone up, Bart. Listen at him. 'Ever o' thee he's fondly dreamin'.' Somethin's busted the spell an' I'll bet a cooky it was ready cash." He menaced Mr. McGuffey with a rigid index finger. "Bart," he demanded, "did you loan Scraggsy some money?"
The honest McGuffey hung his head. "A little bit," he replied childishly.
"What d'ye call a little bit?"
"Three hundred dollars, Gib."
"Secured?"
"He gimme his note at eight per cent. The savin's bank only pays four."
"Is the note secured by endorsement or collateral?"
"No."
"Hum-m-m! Strange you didn't say nothin' to me about this till I had to pry it out o' you, Bart. How about you?"