She drove her hand down into the pocket of her breeches and dragged up a fistful of small money.
“To-day was pay-day. Here’s your dollar.”
“Want a receipt?”
“Sure, Mike. I couldn’t trust you.”
An odd look crossed his face. He did not play easily, but he tried:
“I can’t give you a receipt now, because everybody is looking.”
“Do you mean that you had an idea of kissing me?” she gasped.
“Yep.”
“You reckless devil! Do you think that a plutocrat can kiss every poor goil in the shop?”