"All right." he said. "Eleven-fifty. I'll give you a receipt. But you mind me, Doan Marshey, you get the rest before the month's out. I've been too slack with you."
Marshey, his dull eyes watching Hazen write the receipt, was folding the little pouch and putting it away. Hazen tore off the bit of paper and gave it to him. Doan took it and he said humbly: "Thank'e, sir."
Hazen nodded.
"Mind now," he exclaimed, and Marshey said: "I'll do my best, Mr.
Kinch."
Then he turned and shuffled across the room and out into the hall and we heard him descending the stairs.
When he was gone I asked Hazen casually: "What was it that he dropped upon the table?"
"A dollar," said Hazen promptly. "A dollar bill. The miserable fool!"
Hazen's mental processes were always of interest to me.
"You mean to give it back to him?" I asked.
He stared at me and he laughed. "No! If he can't take care of his own money—that's why he is what he is."