leaned with the back of his chair against the wall, and twanged the strings and sang them stirring songs. Two of the melodies they knew, "The Miner's Daughter" and "Solomon Levi," and roared the words with a gusto that shook the lamp. Tiring of singing, Tom Woods put the banjo away; and Bert told of Sam Sickles and spoke of the clerk with frank admiration. The Butterfly Man smoked and nodded.
"I've heard of that type before," he said. "Single-track minds—think of nothing but getting ahead. They usually make good, but anybody who stands in their way gets hurt. How long has he been working in the store?"
"About a couple of months."
"You had the job, didn't you? How did you come to get out?"
"Oh," said Bert, "the old man and I couldn't get along."
"The what?" Tom Woods asked mildly.
"I mean my father," Bert said, and squirmed uncomfortably.
Tom Woods knocked the ashes from his pipe. "Your father is older than you, son, and he knows more. Don't fool yourself about that. Usually fathers think a lot about their sons, and usually sons think mainly of themselves. Well, how about bed? I'll have to knock together a shake-down for you fellows."
But it was a long time before Bert dropped off
