“Huh!” Jim picked up the boy’s bags and started upstairs. “Guess I’d be willing to use crutches if I could wear clothes like his and buy bags like these!”
“Oh, Jim!” protested Hope. “That’s an awful thing to say! You shouldn’t talk like that even—even in fun.”
Jim grunted and went on. “Bet you,” he said to himself, “he will kick about his room. The carpet’s worn out and there ought to be new paper on the walls.” But if Jeffrey Latham observed these things, no one would have suspected it.
“What a bully room!” he was saying as Jim entered. “Isn’t it nice and sunny? May I keep my trunk in here, Mrs. Hazard?”
“Why, certainly. Between the window and the bureau would be a good place, wouldn’t it? I’m so glad you like the room. It’s the pleasantest in the house.”
Jeffrey took out a pigskin purse and opened it, exhibiting what looked to Jim like a good deal of money. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the driver.
“One dollar, sir. Fifty cents for you, sir, and the trunk and bags extry.”
“Nonsense!” said Jim sharply. “He’s trying to do you, Latham. Seventy-five’s all it ought to be.”
“With a heavy trunk and two bags like them!” demanded the driver incredulously. Jeffrey laughed.