“Nothing,” says I, “except that Catty is a friend of mine and Dad’s, and I come along.” “Do you recommend this young man?” says he. “Yes,” says I, “and so will Dad.” I knew Dad would. “What’s your proposition?” says Mr. Manning to Catty. “I’ll do this job for cost—exactly what it costs, and ten cents on each dollar besides for my profit. If you want to you can buy the paints and supplies and pay me the profit when it’s all done. Then you’ll know you’re getting a fair deal.” “Who are you, anyhow?” “Catty Atkins,” says he. “Where’s your shop?” “Haven’t one _yet_.” “Where do you live?” “Nowheres—_yet_.” “I can’t give you such a job as this until I know something about you,” says Mr. Manning. “Dad and me, we jest come to town,” says Catty. “We always been shiftless, but I got to be respectable now and make folks respect me. I’ve made Dad agree to live here, and he’s got to work. We hain’t never done nothin’ but be shiftless and traipse around since Mother died.” “Tramps, eh?” “I calc’late you’d call us that.” “Expect me to trust a couple of tramps with this job?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because,” says Catty, “you know I mean business. You do know it, and you know I’ll give you a good job or bust.” “Huh!...” says Mr. Manning. “Where’s your equipment? Your ladders and staging and brushes and paints?” “Give me this job and I’ll have ’em. I’ll start work here Monday. This is Thursday.” “I’ll be _jiggered_!” says Mr. Manning. “How old are you?” “Fifteen.” Mr. Manning scowled at Catty, and I thought it was coming then, but in a minute he spoke. “Young man,” says he, “if you can be here with proper equipment and workmen at seven o’clock Monday morning, you can have the job. If a kid like you has the crust to tackle a thing like this, and, without a cent, can scrape together equipment and workmen, I’ll make a bet you can do the job. Satisfy you?” “Yes.” “Git!” says Mr. Manning. “Monday at seven,” says Catty, and we walked out. “There,” says he, “that’s done. Now I hain’t got anything to do but git together the ladders and brushes and paints and workmen to do the job.” It looked to me like that was quite a chore, but Catty didn’t seem discouraged any. “We got to git busy,” says he. CHAPTER V Catty had the rest of Thursday and Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to get together the things he had to have to paint Mr. Manning’s warehouse—and to convince his father he had to go to work. That last looked to me to be about as difficult as the other was. Mr. Atkins didn’t look like work. I never saw a man who looked less like it in my life. But then I looked at Catty, and his jaw was all squared up and there was a kind of a spark in his eye. Right then I made up my mind that Mr. Atkins was in for a time of it. All of a sudden Catty started to talk.