"At the rate of seven dollars and a half a full week," answered Dick.
Ferd whistled to signify his skepticism.
"You're yarning, Dick. I don't believe he gave you half that. Anyhow,
I'm dead sure dad'll never think of paying such big wages. He can get
all the help he needs at three dollars a week," remarked Ferd, preparing
to start up his machine and go ahead, since his object had been
accomplished, and he had the peculiar satisfaction of knowing that he
had after a fashion put that upstart Dick Morrison down a peg or two
even while making himself out to be a generous, forgiving fellow.
Dick saw him speed away with a renewed splutter and a cloud of dust,
while to himself he was saying:
"Three dollars a week will never satisfy me just now. I am strong enough
to be earning a dollar a day on a farm, and we have too big a need of
the money to take a position at less. I can make more than that fishing,
counting the good days and the bad as they run. And I'm afraid there
might be trouble for me if once Archibald Graylock had me under his
thumb. He would find some opportunity to accuse me of something I hadn't
done and discharge me in disgrace. I'll go and see him all right, but if
we fail to come to terms I won't be much disappointed. I'll keep
everlastingly at it until I strike my gait, just as Grant did when he
was fighting the battles of the Wilderness.
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