The Orphan laughed and dusted his chaps.
“Where’ll I find Lee Lung?” he asked. “Blake wants him to rustle the grub lively.”
“He’s in the cook shack behind the house a-doing it and trying to sing,” replied Jim. “He’s always trying to sing; it goes something like this: Hop-lee, low-hop yum-see,” he hummed in a monotonous wail as he combed his hair before a broken bit of mirror stuck in a crack. “Hi-dee, hee-hee, chop-chop––”
“Gimme that comb, yu heathen Chinee,” cried Bud, “and don’t make that noise.”
“Anything else yu wants?” asked Jim, deliberately putting the comb away in the box.
“I want to be in Kansas City with a million dollars and a whopper of a thirst,” replied Bud as he filled the basin for the stranger. “It’s all yourn, stranger. Grub’s waiting for yu inside when yore ready.”
“Do yu know who that feller is?” Bud asked in a whisper as they made their way to the table, from which came much laughter. “That’s The Orphant,” he added.
“Th’ h–l it is!” said Jim. “Him? Him Th’ Orphant? Tell another! I’m more than six years old, even if yu ain’t.”
“That’s straight, fellers!” said Bud to the assembled outfit in a low voice. “I ain’t kidding yu none, honest. I saw him up to Ace High last year. That’s him, all right. Wait ’til he comes in and see!”
“Well, I don’t care if he’s Jonah,” responded Jim. “Only I reckons you’re plumb loco, all the same. But I’m too hungry to care if Gabriel blows if I can fill up before these Oliver Twists eats it all up,” he said, revealing his last reading matter.