“All right, Junius.” The proprietor of the lunch-wagon grinned at Wayne and winked, but Wayne only frowned.
“You’ll have a sandwich, June,” he said. “Pie isn’t good for you. Two ham sandwiches, please.”
“All right, sir.”
June watched wistfully while the knife slipped through the end of the ham, and at last hunger got the better of manners. “Mister Denny, sir, would you please, sir, just bear down a little heavier on that fat meat?” he requested.
“Sure, you can have all the fat you want. How’d you know my name, though?”
Wayne answered for him. “A man at the freight shed directed us.”
“Yes, sir, and he said we was to tell you to give us a mighty good feed, Mister Denny,” added June. “But I reckon you-all goin’ to do that anyway, ain’ you?”
The proprietor laughed as he covered two slices of buttered bread with generous slices of ham. “That’s right, Snow—I mean Junius,” he responded. “If that ain’t enough you come back. Want something for your dog?”
“Thanks, I’ll give him some of my sandwich,” said Wayne, trying not to look impatient.
“You don’t need to.” The man scooped up some trimmings from the ham on the blade of the broad knife, dumped them on a slice of bread and leaned over the counter. “Here you are, Bingo. Catch!” Sam caught as much as he could and it disappeared as though by magic. After that he licked up the few scraps that had got away from him, wagged his tail delightedly, and gazed inquiringly and invitingly up again. “Say, he’s a smart dog, ain’t he?” said the man. “What’s his name?”