“Yes, sir,” said the lad, swallowing a lump in his throat, “and I would give the world, if I had it, if I was back there again.”
“How is it you’re here?”
“Me and Dick Harrison run away from home; we lived in Philadelphia, and we haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday.”
“Where is Dick?”
“He’s off yonder, on the other side of the Plaza; he’s just dead broke up, and says he won’t try nothin’ more, but is goin’ to lay down and die.”
“I don’t believe anyone has ever died of starvation in San Antonio; can’t you get work?”
“We have been trying for two weeks; we got a job or two that fetched us a little to eat, but we can’t do nothin’ more.”
“Take us over to where Dick is,” said Herbert, whose heart was touched, “and let us see him.”
“Come on,” said the boy, so cheerfully that Nick and his friend were satisfied he was telling the truth. On the way across the Plaza, they questioned Fred Beekman, as he gave his name, still further.