The man laughed. “I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You paid in advance?”
Stubby pricked up his ears.
“'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job some'eres else.”
Then it came out. Mr. Stuart was broke; more than that, he was “off his nut.” Lots of people were doing little jobs for him—there was no sense in any of them, and now he had suddenly been called out of town!
There was a trembly feeling through Stubby's insides, but outwardly he was bristling just like his hair bristled as he demanded: “Where am I to get what's coming to me?”
“'Fraid you won't get it, sonny. We're all in the same boat.” He looked Stubby up and down and then added: “Kind of little for that boat.”
“I got to have it!” cried Stubby. “I tell you, I got to!”
The man shook his head. “That cuts no ice. Hard luck, sonny, but we've got to take our medicine in this world. 'Taint no medicine for kids, though,” he muttered.
Stubby's face just then was too much for him. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a dime, saying: “There now. You run along and get you a soda and forget your troubles. It ain't always like this. You'll have better luck next time.”
But Stubby did not get the soda. He put the dime in his pocket and turned toward home. Something was the matter with his legs—they acted funny about carrying him. He tried to whistle, but something was the matter with his lips, too.