"Walk, unless I could earn money enough in one town to take me to another."
Bob's conversation, which showed such a remarkable ignorance of the world, especially in view of the fact that he was a New York boy, suggested to the waitress that perhaps he had run away from home.
Determined to find out, she banished the sympathetic smile from her face, and becoming very severe, leaned across the table and gazing straight into Bob's eyes, asked:
"Look a here, kid, you haven't run away from a good home, have you?"
The unexpectedness of this question took Bob by surprise. Under the searching gaze of the girl's eyes, he felt just as he had when the magistrate had glanced at him, and his voice trembled a little as he replied:
"No! Oh, no, indeed!"
But his manner was not convincing, and the girl continued her interrogations, but on a different tack.
"Your folks live in New York?"
"I haven't any."
"Then where have you been living?"