“No. But yours is Pitney Scott. I’ve got you down on a list I made up for a contribution of five dollars.”
“I heard about that list.”
“Yes? Who from?”
“Oh... people. You can cross me off. Last week I made eighteen dollars and twenty cents.”
“You know what it’s for.”
He nodded. “I know that too. You want to save my life. Listen, my dear fellow. To charge five dollars for saving my life would be outrageous. Believe me, exorbitant. Rank profiteering.” He laughed. “These things have a bottom, I suppose. There is no such thing as a minus quantity except in mathematics. You have no idea what a feeling of solidity and assurance that reflection can gave a man. Have you got a drink in your house?”
“How about two dollars? Make it two.”
“You’re still way high.”
“One even buck.”
“Still you flatter me. Listen.” Though it was cold for November, with a raw wind, he had no gloves and his hands were red and rough. He got his stiff fingers into a pocket, came out with some chicken feed, picked a nickel and pushed it at me. “I’ll pay up now and get it off my mind. Now that I don’t owe you anything, have you got a drink?”