Jim fumbled in his pockets, and finally produced two cents.
"There, boy," he said, placing them in the hand of the disgusted
knight of the brush.
"What's that for?" he asked.
"It's your pay."
"Look here, mister, you've made a mistake; here's only two cents."
"I know it."
"Do you think I work for any such price as that?"
"Perhaps you expect a dollar!" sneered Jim.
"No, I don't; but a nickel's my lowest price. Plenty of gentlemen
give me a dime."
"That's too much; I've paid you all I'm going to."
"Wait a minute. That boot don't look as well as the other."
Jim unsuspiciously allowed the boy to complete his work, but he had
occasion to regret it. The bootblack hastily rubbed his brush in the
mud on the sidewalk and daubed it on one of Jim's boots, quite
effacing the shine.
"There, that'll do," he said, and, scrambling to his feet, ran round
the corner.
Then, for the first time, Jim looked down, and saw what the boy had
done. He uttered an exclamation of disgust and looked round hastily
to see where the offender had betaken himself.
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