"But that's a rotten way!" Walter ejaculated impulsively. "I'd hate to live like that—never being willing to help anybody or ask them to help me."
The man called Peters gave him a contemptuous stare.
"You'll find there's no whining or asking help of other people here," announced he, with a sneer. "Those that are darn fools enough to get into holes get out of them as best they can. It's their hunt."
Spitting emphatically on the ground he proceeded to go into the garage with the tire he was carrying.
Walter took up a stick he saw lying near by.
"What are you going to do?" demanded the red-cheeked man, regarding him with unconcealed surprise.
"Beat the cushions."
"But—but—heavens, sonny! Didn't you hear what Peters said?"
"Of course I heard. I don't have to sign up to a creed like that, though, if I don't want to, do I?"
"We all do. We agree neither to borrow, lend, nor ask favors."