“But Connors only charges a quarter,” he demurred. “Then get him to do it,” responded Mr. Duff, with a yawn. “There isn’t time. They’ve got to be at Dunlop & Toll’s right away. All right, I’ll pay thirty-five. But you’ve got to hurry.” Very leisurely Mr. Duff gathered up his reins and clicked to the dejected-looking horse. Willard climbed to the seat and the shade of the gaudy umbrella, and they set forth. Mr. Duff was not much of a conversationalist, and Willard was busy thinking, and so they had almost turned into River Street before either spoke. Then it was Willard who broke the silence, and in very business-like tones. “Look here,” he said. “Do you want to make some money every day?” Mr. Duff viewed him uncertainly. Finally, “I might,” he answered cautiously. “Well, a fellow and I run an automobile to the station and fetch passengers from the trains.” Mr. Duff nodded. “Very often they have trunks and sample cases and things. Why can’t you haul those as well as Connors?” Mr. Duff viewed his horse thoughtfully for a moment. “Where to?” he asked at last. “Why, to the hotel, usually,” replied Willard a trifle impatiently. “What difference does that make? The question is, will you engage to haul our baggage for us at twenty-five cents apiece, if we let you handle it all.” The expressman flicked the horse gently with a worn-out whip, and remained silent for the space of a minute. Then, “How many would there be?” he inquired suspiciously. “I don’t know. Some days there might be five or six; other days only one or two, perhaps none at all.” “Would you pay cash?” “Of course! We’ll pay as soon as you do the work. But you’ve got to agree to do it quickly. That is, if a trunk comes on the 11:34 you must have it delivered by 12:00 or a little after.” “I might be busy,” objected Mr. Duff. “’Sides, some of them trunks they has nowadays is pretty heavy for one man to handle. I ain’t as young as I used to be, mister.” “The station agent will give you a hand with the heavy ones,” said Willard, trying to conceal his exasperation. “Of course, if you don’t want to do it, there’s Connors.” “He don’t need the money like I do,” objected Mr. Duff. “I got a family, I have. I’m a poor man. Times is hard.” “Well, then, for the love of mud, why don’t you do it?” cried Willard. Mr. Duff turned and viewed him in mild surprise. “I ain’t said I wouldn’t, have I?” he asked complainingly. “No; and you haven’t said you would! Now, which is it?” “Twenty-five cents apiece, you said?” he inquired, as he backed the wagon up to the platform. Willard nodded. Mr. Duff sighed as he tossed the reins to the horse’s back. “I s’pose I’ll have to do it,” he said dolefully.