“Same to you, Ralph!”
The two shook hands warmly, and then Zeph picked up his cap and stuck it sideways upon his thatch of hair.
“How’s the boy?” asked Zeph, and Ralph knew he was grinning.
“I’ll tell you,” chuckled Ralph. “I’m gravely disturbed over a friend of mine——”
“Is his name Andy McCarrey?” whispered Zeph, with his lips close to his friend’s ear.
“Goodness!” gasped the dispatcher. “What do you mean? I’ve been troubled about a fellow named Dallas. But what do you know about McCarrey?”
“I know enough to believe it is not best to take his name in vain around these yards,” muttered Zeph. “Come on out of here. I’ll give it up for to-night. It was you I wanted to talk to, anyway, Ralph.”
“I don’t understand you at all, Zeph,” complained the young dispatcher, as they walked toward the gate in the yard fence.
“Come on over to the Owl Lunch, and I’ll give you an earful,” said Zeph. “The missus all right?”
“She is fine, and was asking after you. When you come to town, Zeph, you should come to our house.”