“No,” said Happy.  “You lemme go on.  I didn’t mean fer to cause you no trouble when I lit on that loud-mouth, `Nashville’; I never thought they’d git me, or you’d be dragged in.  But I jest couldn’t stand him no longer.  He had me all wore out—­all evening long a-hintin’ and sniffin’ and wearin’ that kind of a high-smile ’cause they made so much fuss over you.  And then when we got clear in town he come out with it!  Said you was too quiet to suit him—­said he couldn’t see nothin’ to you! `Well,’ I says to myself, `jest let him go on, jest one more,’ I says, `then he gits it.’  And he did.  Said you tromped on his foot on purpose, said he knowed it,—­when the Lord-a’mightiest fool on earth knows you never tromped on no one!  Said you was one of the po’rest young sports he ever see around a place like the Beach.  You see, he thought you was jest one of them fool `Bloods’ that come around raisin’ a rumpus, and didn’t know you was our friend and belonged out there, the same as me or Mike hisself. `Go on,’ I says to myself, `jest one more!’ `He better go home to his mamma,’ he says; `he’ll git in trouble if he don’t.  Somebody ’ll soak him if he hangs around in my company. I don’t like his ways.’  Then I had to do it.  There jest wasn’t nothin’ left—­but I wouldn’t of done you no harm by it—­”

“You didn’t do me any harm, Happy.”

“I mean your repitation.”

“I didn’t have one—­so nothing in the world could harm it.  About your getting some work, now—­”

“I’ll listen,” said Happy, rather suspiciously.

“You see,” Joe went on, growing red, “I need a sort of janitor here—­”

“What fer?” Mr. Fear interrupted, with some shortness.

“To look after the place.”

“You mean these two rooms?”

“There’s a stairway, too,” Joe put forth, quickly.  “It wouldn’t be any sinecure, Happy.  You’d earn your money; don’t be afraid of that!”

Mr. Fear straightened up, his burden of embarrassment gone from him, transferred to the other’s shoulders.

“There always was a yellow streak in you, Joe,” he said, firmly.  “You’re no good as a liar except when you’re jokin’.  A lot you need a janitor!  You had no business to pay my fine; you’d ort of let me worked it out.  Do you think my eyes ain’t good enough to see how much you needed the money, most of all right now when you’re tryin’ to git started?  If I ever take a cent from you, I hope the hand I hold out fer it ’ll rot off.”

“Now don’t say that, Happy.”

“I don’t want a job, nohow!” said Mr. Fear, going to the door; “I don’t want to work.  There’s plenty ways fer me to git along without that.  But I’ve said what I come here to say, and I’ll say one thing more.  Don’t you worry about gittin’ law practice.  Mike says you’re goin’ to git all you want—­and if there ain’t no other way, why, a few of us ’ll go out and make some fer ye!”