" Tom could not
smoke, but he drew a plug of chewing tobacco from his
pocket and took a chew, to show that his sympathies were
that way.
"I guess perhaps some of you men met Mr. Motherwell in
Winnipeg. He's in there hiring men for this locality,"
the bartender said amiably.
"That's the name of the gent that hired me," said one.
"Me too."
"And me," came from others. "I'd no intention of comin'
here," a man from Paisley said. "I was goin' to Souris,
until that gent got a holt of me, and I thought if he
wuz a sample of the men ye raise here, I'd hike this
way."
"He's lookin' for a treat," the bartender laughed. "He's
sized you up, Tom, as a pretty good fellow."
"No, I ain't after no treat," the Paisley man declared.
"That's straight, what I told you."
Tom unconsciously put his hand in his coat pocket and
felt the money his father had put there. He drew it out
wondering. The quick eyes of the bartender saw it at
once.
"Tom's getting out his wad, boys," he laughed. "Nothin'
mean about Tom, you bet Tom's goin' to do somethin'."
In the confusion that followed Tom heard himself saying:
"All right boys, come along and name yer drinks."
Tom had a very indistinct memory of what followed. He
remembered having a handful of silver, and of trying to
put it in his pocket.
Once when the boys were standing in front of the bar at
his invitation he noticed a miserable, hungry looking
man, who drank greedily.
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