“I guess y’ kin git it, all right. But how about your home?”
“I haven’t any home,” and the boy gazed out across the fields, his lips quivering a little despite his efforts to keep them still.
The foreman looked at him for a moment. There was something in the face that moved him, and he held out his hand impulsively.
“Here, shake!” he said. “I’m your friend.”
The boy put his hand in the great, rough palm extended to him, but he did not speak—his throat was too full for that.
“Now, if you’re goin’ t’ stay,” went on the other, “you’ve got t’ have some place t’ board. I’ll board an’ room y’ fer three dollars a week. It won’t be like Delmonicer’s, but y’ won’t starve—y’ll git yer three square meals a day. That’ll leave y’ four-fifty a week fer clothes an’ things. How’ll that suit y’?”
The boy looked at him gratefully.
“You are very kind,” he said, huskily. “I’m sure it’s worth more than three dollars a week.”
“No, it ain’t—not a cent more. Well, that’s settled. Some day, maybe, you’ll feel like tellin’ me about yerself. I’d like to hear it. But not now—wait till y’ git used t’ me.”
A freight-train, flying two dirty white flags, to show that it was running extra and not on a definite schedule, rumbled by, and the train-crew waved their caps at the section-men, who responded in kind. The engineer leaned far out the cab window and shouted something, but his voice was lost in the roar of the train.