“Thanks,” rumbled the man. “My name’s Fallow; Fallow and Turner, over to Needham. Guess you know me, eh? Or ain’t you Winslow?”
“Mr. Fallow? Oh, yes, to be sure. I—I’ve heard of you, Mr. Fallow.”
“Guess you have,” said Mr. Fallow dryly. “A good many times. Well, what’s the verdict?”
“Why—er—I say, take a seat, won’t you? Try the big chair there. Now, sir, what can I do for you?”
For answer Mr. Fallow, grunting, plunged a hand inside his coat and drew forth a folded paper which he waved slowly in front of him.
“For me?” asked Hugh interestedly. “What—is it?”
“Say, you’re a cool one,” remarked the visitor in unwilling admiration. “Bless me if you ain’t. Well, this is a bill for thirty-four dollars and sixty cents, son. I ought to add interest to it, too, I guess, but I ain’t aiming to be hard on you. You all ready to pay it?”
Hugh shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry to say I’m not, sir.”
“Oh, you ain’t?”
“No. You see, Mr. Fallow, I’ve been expecting some money ever since Saturday and it hasn’t come. I’m awfully sorry. It’s sure to be here tomorrow and——”