"Oh, well, about five dollars a day, I reckin."
The porter laughed coarsely. "You needn't talk to me about it," he said; "I'm not the proprietor."
"The which?" asked Baker.
"The boss."
"Oh, ain't you?" and then he looked very much puzzled indeed.
The porter had had sufficient amusement, and so he demanded, in a brusque and menacing tone, "Now, say—you get away from here quick! We don't want no crazy tramps around here. You understand?"
Baker did not stir, but stood looking helplessly at the porter, surprised and grieved.
"Get out, I say, or I'll set the dogs on you!"
A look of deep mortification settled on Baker's face, but he was not frightened; he did not move a muscle, except to glance quickly around for the dogs.
"Ain't you going, you crazy old tramp? If you don't I'll lock you up and send for the sheriff;" and the porter rattled some keys in his pocket.