Hugh looked up. “Can’t imagine. Something about father, I suppose.”
“No, about your sister Carol.”
“Good old Carol?” said the boy with surprise.
“Yes. How much more time have you before you must go back to the store?”
Hugh looked at his wrist watch. Its dilapidated leather bracelet matched the carelessness of its owner’s general appearance. “Half an hour.”
“Then let us eat quickly and get to some quiet spot.”
They found it in a hotel lobby on the way to Hugh’s place of business, and in transit John Ogden took further mental note of his companion’s shabbiness. Not only were his clothes in need of brushing, but he had not shaved to-day; his shoes were dusty and by industry the boy finished several cigarettes before, in the hotel lobby, they found a couple of neighboring chairs, and he lighted another.
“Hard luck to tote you around this way, Mr. Ogden, but all I’ve got is a hall bedroom in a hash house.”
“You talk a lot about luck, don’t you?” remarked the older man. “You don’t look as if you had ever gone after it very hard.”
“Oh, yes,” responded Hugh; “I’ve batted around considerable after jobs.”