"
"I've tried to earn it all, sir," says Nivens.
"So you have," admits Ham. "I suppose I should have said so before.
As a valet you're a wonder. You've got a lot of sense, too. So why
insist now on my doing the impossible? You know very well I can't lay
my hands on a dollar."
"But there's your friend Mr. Ellins," says Nivens.
Ham Adams looks over at me. "I say," says he, "won't Bob stand for
more than a hundred? Are you sure?"
"He only sent that in case you was sick," says I.
"You see?" says Ham, turnin' to Nivens. "We've got to worry along the
best we can until things brighten up. I may have to sell off some of
these things."
A cold near-smile flickers across Nivens' thin lips.
"You hadn't thought of taking a position, had you, sir?" he asks
insinuatin'.
"Position!" echoes Ham. "Me? Why, I never did any kind of work--don't
know how. Tell me, who do you think would give me a job at anything?"
"Since you've asked, sir," says Nivens, "why, I might, sir."
Ham Adams lets out a gasp.
"You!" says he.
"It's this way, sir," says Nivens, in that quiet, offhand style of his.
"I'd always been in the habit of putting by most of my wages, not
needing them to live on. There's tips, you know, sir, and quite a
little one can pick up--commissions from the stores, selling
second-hand clothes and shoes, and so on.
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