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 "Blast me, but you're a nosey kid! What difference does it make what I want it for? Do I have to tell you my private affairs? Maybe I want it to buy a ticket to London and maybe I don't. Just pony up two dollars and ask no questions, and don't forget there'll be three dollars more coming to me when I finish."

Bert was not sure about the ethics of paying for a job before it was finished, but he paid rather than argue. Peg laid his brush across the can and hobbled down the street. Twenty minutes later he was back, a suspicious odor on his breath and a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. Whatever had transpired while he was away had evidently put him in a bad humor, for he growled and grumbled as he plied his brush.

The hands of Bert's watch crawled past eleven o'clock. It was apparent that Peg was nearing the end of his labors. Bert walked out into the street, studied the lettering and made a grimace. Well, it saved seven dollars, anyway.

"What's the matter with you?" Peg demanded truculently. "Don't you like it?"

"It will do. What time will you finish?"

"About noon. So it will do! What did you expect for five dollars, an oil painting? Maybe you'd like it in gold leaf. Give a kid a few dollars and he thinks he's quality and sasses his betters. Blast me, in my day a youngster knew his place and kept it."