"Sam? Oh, he's Agnes' half-brother, and he's half-witted."
"H'm. Sort of fractional currency! Is he—is he exclusive?"
"Eh?"
"Never mind, thank you. I'll be my own intelligence office. Hey, Sam, want some chewin' gum?"
The lackwit turned to the bright-faced boy who followed him, and favored him with a vacant stare.
"Gum, sonny, gum, you know. Chew-chew! Eh?"
Sam held out his hand, and Fibsy put a paper package in it.
"Wait a minute," he went on, leading Sam out of earshot of the garage. "What's that song I heard you singing a bit ago?"
"No, sir! Sam don't sing that more."
"Oh, yes, Sam does. It's a pretty song. Come now, I like your voice. Sam sings pretty—very pretty."