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Not a few were the sneers cast at Joe on more than one occasion, when he declined to take part in some jollification, and remarks were made about his being a miser and a "tight-wad." But Joe did not seem to care. He drew his salary regularly, and as he was not known to gamble or to have other noticeably bad habits, there was considerable speculation as to what he did with his money.

Not a tight-wad, far from that, though he preferred to work for a meal than pay for it; much preferred to walk or ride than to purchase other people's energy, having much of his own. He came at last to a village called Butthighur, near Makrai, north of the Mahadeo Mountains in the Central Provinces.

The words stung Joe. He paused in his dressing. "Tight-wad?" he mused. "So that's what they call me. Well, it isn't a very nice name, but if they think I'm going to spend my money on blow-outs for the crowd they're mistaken. I'm not going to be so foolish."

And Barney, in his cynical wisdom of his poor world, further knew that the average man enticed into this poor trap, after the woman has said yes, and after the first brief freshness has lost its bloom, becomes a tight-wad and there is little real money to be got from him for any one.

I believe you fixed up to catch me, and make me feel like a tight-wad. But I'm one to the good. Don't peek. After supper we'll have a lark. Have you a kiss by way of welcome?" Joyce turned from the lamp she was lighting, and put both her hands on his shoulders. "Oh, but it's good to have you back!" she said, and raised her lips to his.

He had a reputation with the "charity gang" of being stingy because he would not give them so much as the price of a bazaar ticket. Also, the impecunious spongers at his clubs spread his fame as a "tight-wad" because he refused to let them "stick him up" for even a round of drinks. Where many a really stingy man yielded through weakness or fear of public opinion, he stood firm.

Get the names of everybody, and get them right. The closest tight-wad in the town will buy a paper if it has his name in it. Every story, no matter how short, is good for a number of names. In your copy as you turned it in" the editor picked it up from his desk; he had evidently saved it for such an occasion as this "the only name you had was that of the clothing store.

"Here's where you put the hornet on one Silas Tight-Wad Trimmer all right, all right. But the bones don't roll right that the side bet don't go for Johnson instead of Applegoat. He's a shine, for me. I think he's all to the canary color inside, but this man Johnson's some man if he only had a shell to put it in. Me for him!"

Pale Annie regarded him with grave disapproval. "My friend," he said solemnly, "liquor is the real root of all evil. For my part, I quench my thirst with water. They's a tub over there in the corner with a dipper handy. Don't mention it." "I didn't thank you," said Haw-Haw Langley furiously. "Damn a tight-wad, say I!"

Purt did not like to let go of money among his school chums he was considered a notorious "tight-wad" but he was willing to do almost anything to get away from the greasy-handed butcher. "What what did the dog take? How much were the frankfurters worth?" he stammered. "The dog isn't mine weally! but I'll pay " "A dollar, then.