“He never told me. I intended to ask him once, but before I could get the chance he was killed over to the flour mill. Then I had to shift for myself, for his relatives came in and cleared out the house and wouldn’t have nothing to do with me.”
“That was hard luck.”
“It wasn’t as hard as falling in with Joel Carrow,” answered Bob. “Gee Christopher! but he was a hard one to get along with. If I had stayed there another month I would have committed suicide.”
“Well, as I said before, I will take you to Stampton with me if you wish to go, and I’ll pay expenses on the way. But what will you do when you get there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Finding work is no easy job in a city.”
“I reckon I’ll fall on my feet. I generally do. I would like to learn to take pictures,” concluded the boy.
More talk followed, and they hurried along until it was past noon.
“About dinner-time,” said Frank Landes, consulting his watch. “Let us see if we can’t get dinner at that farm-house just beyond.”
They walked to the farm-house, and, after some talk, the farmer’s wife agreed to furnish them with a meal for twenty cents each—a price which Landes promptly paid.