“He is,” affirmed Ralph, “and everybody likes him. He’s ready at any time of the night to get up and give a tired-out railroad hand a hot cup of coffee or a lunch. His meals are famous, too, for he is a fine cook.”
“Hello, Ralph Fairbanks,” piped a happy little voice as Ralph and Zeph entered the restaurant. 52
Ralph shook hands with the speaker, a boy hobbling about the place on a crutch.
“What’s it going to be?” asked Limpy Joe, “full dinner or a lunch?”
“Both, best you’ve got,” smiled Ralph. “The railroad is paying for this.”
“That so? Then we’ll reduce the rates. Railroad has been too good to me to overcharge the company.”
“This is my friend, Zeph Dallas,” introduced Ralph.
“Glad to know you,” said Joe. “Sit down at the counter, fellows, and I’ll soon have you served.”
“Well, well,” said Zeph, staring around the place one way, then the other, and then repeating the performance. “This strikes me.”
“Interesting to you, is it?” asked Ralph.