“I have enough for you, old top,” replied the host, “even if I only had half as much as I have. Here, take first crack at the ambrosia. Sorry I have but a single cup; but James has broken the others. James is very careless. Sometimes I almost feel that I shall have to let him go.”
“Who's James?” asked Billy.
“James? Oh, James is my man,” replied the other.
Billy looked up at his companion quizzically, then he tasted the dark, thick concoction in the tin can.
“This is coffee,” he announced. “I thought you said it was ambrose.”
“I only wished to see if you would recognize it, my friend,” replied the poetical one politely. “I am highly complimented that you can guess what it is from its taste.”
For several minutes the two ate in silence, passing the tin can back and forth, and slicing—hacking would be more nearly correct—pieces of meat from the half-roasted fowl. It was Billy who broke the silence.
“I think,” said he, “that you been stringin' me—'bout James and ambrose.”
The other laughed good-naturedly.
“You are not offended, I hope,” said he. “This is a sad old world, you know, and we're all looking for amusement. If a guy has no money to buy it with, he has to manufacture it.”