"Th-thank you," he stammered embarrassedly. "You—you were very kind." He paused, and gazed nervously back toward the street. "I—I was expecting some one. We were going to take that boat."
"No! Was ye? An' he did n't show up? Say, now, dat's tough—an'
T'anksgivin', too!"
"As if I cared for Thanksgiving!" The words came tense with bitterness.
"Aw, come now, furgit it!" There was a look of real concern on the boy's face. "Dat ain't no way ter talk. It's T'anksgivin'!"
"Yes, I know—for some." The man's lips snapped shut grimly.
"Aw, come off! Never mind if yer pal did n't show up. Dere 's odders; dere 's me now. Tell ye what, youse come home wid me. Dere won't be no boat now fur a heap o' time, an' I 'm goin' ter T'anksgive. Come on! 'T ain't fur. I'll wheel ye."
The man stared frankly.
"Er—thank you," he murmured, with an odd little laugh; "but—"
"Shucks! 'Course ye can. What be ye goin' ter do?—set here? What's the use o' mopin' like dis when youse got a invite out ter T'anksgivin'? An' ye better catch it while it's goin', too. Ye see, some days I could n't ask ye—not grub enough; but I can ter-day. We got a s'prise comin'."
"Indeed!" The tone was abstracted, almost irritable; but the boy ignored this.