"He ain't been saving much lately."
"Sheener," I asked, "how much does he owe you? For money loaned and spent for him."
Sheener said hotly: "He don't owe me a cent."
"I know. But how much have you spent on him?"
"If I hadn't have give it to him, I'd have blowed it somehow. He needed it."
I guessed at a hundred dollars, at two hundred. Sheener would not tell me. "I'm telling you, he's my pal," he said. "I'm not looking for anything out of this."
"If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he'll make it up to you."
"He don't know a thing about me," said Sheener, "except my name. I've just wrote as though I knowed the old guy, here in the house, see. Said he was sick, and all."
"And the boy gets in to-night?"
"Midnight," said Sheener, and Evans, from his chair, echoed: "Midnight!" Then asked with a certain stiff anxiety: "Do I look all right, Sheener? Look all right to see my boy?"