"Come to stay?" he said with a grin. "How much, kid?"
"All you will give me."
"What are you getting?"
"Twenty."
"I'll give you fifteen to drive a wagon," he said offhand, "and I'll fire you in a week if you haven't anything better with you than your cheek."
"All right," I said coolly, not letting him see that I was ruffled by his rough tongue.
In that way I made the second round of the ladder, and went whistling out of Dround's packing-house into the murky daylight of the Stock Yards.
My part was to drive a wagon for Dround at fifteen a week.