“Yes, but work that pays in real dollars and cents.”
“Ah!” Langford’s eyes swept the ceiling. “Meantime, I am what you might call Assistant to the Government Agent. God knows how long he will suffer me. He is a real good sort, and doesn’t expect too much for his money either in time or in ability. I knock about fifty dollars a month out of him when I work, and that, with the fifty with which my old dad so benevolently pensions me, together with fifty for every ‘penny horrible’ I write, I contrive to eke out a scanty living.
“You’ve got to work, too, Ralston; haven’t you?”
“Work or starve!” answered Phil.
“I hate to think of any man having to work,” mused Langford, “but if starve is the only alternative, why, I guess you’ve got to find a job. Got anything in view?”
“No!”
“Particular about what you tackle?”
“Not at all!”
“All right! I’ve to be at the Court House at five o’clock. Kick your heels around this little burg for a few hours and I’ll try to scare up something for you. But don’t get into mischief.”