"It's a little early fer you, that's all." Washburn dropped his brush and currycomb under the desk, and, full of concern, stood looking down at him.
"Thought I'd come down before breakfast" said Westerfelt. "How was business yesterday?"
"Good; nearly everything out, and it wus most all cash—very little booked."
"Wash?"
"Yes, sir."
"How much did I agree to pay you by the month?"
"Thirty dollars." Washburn glanced at the open ledger. "Have I made any mistake?"
"No, but—but I've been making you do all the work. It isn't fair. Credit yourself with forty dollars a month from the start and keep it up."
Washburn flushed. "I'm mighty much obliged, Mr. Westerfelt. I wusn't complainin' as it wus."
"I know it, but you are a good fellow; I'm going to trust the whole business to you. Your judgment's as good as mine; do the best you can. I'm going down to Atlanta for a few days—I don't know for how long, but I will write you from there."