“Well!––I’ve a thousand bucks and one dollar in the Commercial Bank, and I’m willing to go halves if you can raise the balance.”
Jim started up excitedly, but he subsided almost as 246 quickly. He pulled out the linings of his pockets and with them came a little roll of bills.
“One hundred and sixteen dollars!” he said ruefully. “I’ve counted them one hundred and sixteen times, backwards, forwards and upside down, these last three days, and I can’t get them to grow a dollar more.”
“Won’t somebody stand good for you?”
“Somebody might,––but I am not borrowing. That is one thing Jim Langford never did in his life and he is not going to start in now with it to help him out of a tom-fool boozing stunt he never should have got into. I don’t mind your money so much, Phil, for it would be a partnership affair between two pals, but I am not crawling all over town begging for loans, especially after Dalton has had his say. No,––it’s no good!”
At noon next day, Jim was still in the doldrums.
Phil rushed in all excitement.
“What do you know about that fool Hannington? The town is ablaze with red posters now, and he is offering a thousand dollars reward, for one day only––like a bargain sale––to anyone who will lay information that will lead to the conviction of the horse painter.”
Jim laid down his book, put his pipe out by smothering it with his little finger, then got up and went to the clothes closet. He took down his hat and jacket.
“What’s up now?” asked Phil.