"No, you don't.

I've paid your passage." Sandy waited a moment until the full import of the words was taken in, then he grabbed the stout little doctor and almost lifted him off his feet.
"Oh! But ain't you a brick!" he cried fervently, adding earnestly: "It ain't a present you're makin' me, though! I'll pay it back, so help me bob!" At the pier the crowd of immigrants pushed and crowded impatiently as they waited for the cabin passengers to go ashore.

Among them was Sandy, bareheaded and in motley garb, laughing and shoving with the best of them, hanging over the railing, and keeping up a fire of merriment at the expense of the crowd below.

In his hand was a letter of recommendation to the physician in charge at the City Hospital, and in his inside pocket a ten-dollar bill was buttoned over a heart that had not a care in the world.

In the great stream of life Sandy was one of the bubbles that are apt to come to the top.
"You better come down to Kentucky with me," urged Ricks Wilson, resuming an old argument.