“On his wife's side,” said Pole. “I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef he 'll be down thar this mornin'.”
“Purty apt,” said the clerk. “Fincher's his best friend sence his bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder at a lots o' places.”
“You don't say!”
“An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've seed 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got some notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper.”
“Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way,” said Pole.
The clerk laughed significantly.
“Ef it ain't already made,” said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. “I don't think that's right,” he said, coldly. “Me nur you, nur nobody, hain't got no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. Craig may 'a' lost ever' cent he had.”
“In a pig's valise!” sneered the red-headed man. “I'd bet my hat he's got money—an' plenty of it, huh!”
“Well, I don't know nothin' about it,” said Pole, still coldly. “An' what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk different, but I don't know it!”
“Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker,” laughed the clerk. “Folks are about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words, Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a while a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked to death all over the country.”