“I bicycled here.”
There was a considerable pause.
“You don’t want to buy a book called Milton for Boys? I’m a salesman. I’ve struck hard times.”
“Why, no,” said the saloon keeper, whose manner was now rather colder. “We don’t have no use for books, not in my lina business.”
Edward clung to the counter. He would never leave it without money, he thought hysterically. The saloon keeper went and served another customer, whistling doubtfully as he did so. Then he produced an account book and began writing down figures. Edward held the counter tightly. He began to feel faint with hunger and excitement. A noise like mowing machines on summer lawns at home was in his ears. The saloon keeper finally looked at him.
“Want something to eat, brother?” he asked. “I’d be willing.”
“No,” said Edward. He felt vaguely that to accept food would lessen the force of his appeal. There was a hopeless silence again. Edward’s head drooped over the counter. He seemed to be looking closely at the grain of the wood.
“The man must be touched by this,” he thought dimly. “I must look awfully white by now.” There was a freezing feeling on the skin of his face.
“Now, see here, young feller,” said the saloon keeper. “I hate to see you in bad. I’ve got a soft heart, so the boys tell me. I’d kinda hate to have a foreigner quit this city feeling mean like you feel right now. I kin size up a man that’s on the level as well as anyone. Now this is what I’ll do. You let me see this wheel of yours and I don’t say but what I kin loan you a few bucks on it.”
Edward leaned on the counter for a minute more. “I might be able to redeem it,” he thought. “Anyway Cliff said I’d probably skip with it, so he won’t be surprised. It’s a little thing to do—for Emily.”