Something dropped out of the mouth of the little cloth bag and fell
soundlessly on the table. It looked to me like a bill, a piece of paper
currency. I was about to speak, but Hazen, without an instant's
hesitation, had dropped his hand on the thing and drawn it
unostentatiously toward him. When he lifted his hand the money--if it
was money--was gone.

Marshey drew out a little roll of worn bills. Hazen took them out of his
hand and counted them swiftly.

"All right." he said. "Eleven-fifty. I'll give you a receipt. But you
mind me, Doan Marshey, you get the rest before the month's out. I've
been too slack with you."

Marshey, his dull eyes watching Hazen write the receipt, was folding
the little pouch and putting it away. Hazen tore off the bit of paper
and gave it to him. Doan took it and he said humbly: "Thank'e, sir."

Hazen nodded.

"Mind now," he exclaimed, and Marshey said: "I'll do my best, Mr.
Kinch."

Then he turned and shuffled across the room and out into the hall and we
heard him descending the stairs.

When he was gone I asked Hazen casually: "What was it that he dropped
upon the table?"

"A dollar," said Hazen promptly. "A dollar bill. The miserable fool!"