Johnnie's eyes sparkled. There was in the question a certain something—an ignoring of bare facts—which made him believe that this man and he were kindred souls.
"No, I don't live with 'em," he hastened to say. "But I talk to Mister Vanderbilt ev'ry day on the tel'phone."
The stranger seemed neither doubtful nor amazed. Johnnie liked him better and better. Taking a fresh hold of the other's horny hand, he chattered on: "I talked to Mister Astor yesterday. He asked me t' go ridin' with him, but I had t' take a trip t' Niagarry."
"Hope y' didn't hurt his feelin's none,"—the tone was grave: that one green eye looked anxious.
Johnnie only shook his head. He did not care to go further with the discussion of the Astor-Smith friendship.
However, the one-eyed man himself turned the conversation, "Goin' back home t'night?" he wanted to know.
Johnnie raised startled eyes. "N-n-no," he returned. "I-i-if I was to, I'd have to take a terrible lickin'."
"Mm." The one-eyed man seemed to understand; then, presently, "Your paw?—or your maw?"
"No relation at all," protested Johnnie. "Just the man where I live."
"He feeds y' O. K.," put in the other. "I was noticin' back yonder in the chuck-house how plump y' are."