"I'm dyin' for a feed,' groaned Slouchy, hugging his stomach in the true Smike style.

"Tib instantly produced our small hoard and pressed in into his clutching hands, and said, 'I redeem the stamps. I hope, Mr. Williams, when we meet again there will be no black marks against you.'

"And thus did the prize-package of Scrubine place us on a footing that allowed no further debate—dead-broke.