“Mebbe he has—then again, mebbe he hain’t.”
“But don’t ye call him nothin’?”
“Oh, we call him ‘Hustler Joe’; but that ain’t no name to hitch a grocery bill on to—eh, Jim?”
The little hunchback slid from his stool and brought his fist down hard on the counter.
“That’s jest the point! He don’t git much, but what he does git he pays fur—spot cash. An’ that’s more’n I can say of some of the rest of ye,” he added, with a reproachful look.
Bill laughed and stretched his long legs.
“I s’pose, now, that’s a dig at me, Jim.”
“I didn’t call no names.”
“I know yer lips didn’t, but yer eyes did. Say, how much do I owe, anyhow?”
With manifest alacrity Jim darted over to the pine box that served for a desk.