"That's what I get for picking up a lad I know nothing about," remarked Quigg, turning to the officer, with a shrug and uplifted eyebrows. "He crept into my car night before last when I was asleep, and being sorry for him I gave him some work. And now he gets me into this scrape."
"That's betwixt you and him," replied the officer indifferently. "I'm here to look out for the city. If you are going to take pictures, get out your license at wanst. And you'd better be after seeing Bud McShane the regular bill sticker, about the rint of what space ye want, or he'll be in your hair, the nixt."
With this the policeman walked leisurely away, swinging his club.
Quigg surveyed Ralph with disgust.
"Put down that bucket and brush," said he, "and unsling those posters. You're too precious green for my business, by half."
"Green I may be," returned the boy, disburdening himself at once, "but I am no liar, and I can't say as I want to work for a liar either."
"You impudent rascal!" cried Quigg, thoroughly enraged, "I'll teach you to call names!"
Quigg was small for a man, and Ralph large for a boy of his age. When the former advanced threateningly, the mountain lad stood firm and eyed his employer steadily.
"You can talk as you please, Mr. Quigg; but—keep your hands off."
The little artist stormed and threatened, but came no nearer.