“You don’t know how much I need it,” he said. “Necessity alone compels me to press the claim upon your attention.”
“It is hard, I know, and I am very sorry for you,” Jenkins replied. “Next week I will certainly pay you fifty dollars.”
“I shall be very thankful. How soon after do you think you will be able to let me have the balance of the three hundred due me? Say as early as possible.”
“Within three months, at least, I hope,” replied Jenkins.
“Harry! Do you hear that?” said Gooding, turning his head toward the back part of the wagon, and speaking in a quick elated manner.
“Oh, aye!” came ringing from the bung-hole of the whisky hogshead.
“Who the dickens is that?” exclaimed Jenkins, turning quickly round.
“No one,” replied Gooding, with a quiet smile, “but my clerk, Harry Williams.”
“Where?”
“Here,” replied the individual named, pushing himself up through the loose head of the upright hogshead, and looking into the face of the discomfited Jenkins, with a broad smile of satisfaction upon his always humorous phiz.