“Not any more than you need to make you act like a man.” Paul bent a steady and fearless gaze on him that made him flinch and drop his eyes. But Hoag was not subdued. He blinked sullenly for a moment, swore at a negro who was staggering past under an overloaded truck, followed him to the wagon at the door, where he stood, a mere husk of a man buffeted by fierce inner storms. Presently he came back to Paul; he had unconsciously crushed the order for the leather in his hand and broken the tip of his pencil. “Thar's no use beatin' about the bush,” he began, in a tone which showed that he was now more sure of his ground. “I'm goin' to give you the truth straight from the shoulder. An' if you don't like it you kin lump it.” Another loaded truck was passing and Hoag stopped it. He made a flurried effort to count the rolls, and failing to do so, he waved his hand impatiently, swore at the man, and the truck was trundled on to the door. “You needn't waste time getting to it,” Paul began firmly. “I know what's the matter with you. You've made up your mind that slavery is not yet over. You've heard about what I am doing for my mother, and--” “That's it,” Hoag's dead face flared. “I may as well tell you the truth an' be done with it. Not a dollar--not one dollar of my money shall go to a low-lived, dirt-eatin' skunk like Jeff Warren.” “_Your_ money? No; not a penny of _your_ money,” Paul laughed, sarcastically. “Well, haven't you gone an' moved his whole lay-out into Mayburn's new house an' laid in furniture an' supplies an'--an'--” “Oh, yes, but not at _your_ expense,” Paul continued to smile. “I knew you would want me to quit working for you when I did it; still, I did it, and I'm going to keep it up.” “You say you are!” Hoag had never had his will more flatly opposed. “Well, listen to me, young man. You are gittin' entirely too big for your pants. I took you up when you come back here under the ban of the law an' couldn't 'a' got a job like this to save your neck. I've been payin' you a hundred a month, but seein' that you are countin' on livin' like a royal prince, an' spendin' your wages on the rag-tag an' bobtail scum of the earth, from now on your pay is cut to seventy-five dollars a month.” The eyes of the two men met. Hoag's were burning with satanic triumph; Paul's held a certain gleam of pity, and yet they bore down with a steadiness that stirred the slow surprise of his companion. “If you mean that as final,” Paul said, “I have something vital and positive to say myself.” “I'll not pay a cent more,” Hoag panted. “I'll see you dead an' buried first. Any young man with the chances you had, to go an' throw 'em all away for a low-lived tramp clodhopper--”