Donaldson felt as though he had found an old friend. It seemed now a month ago since he had wandered through the stores with this boy. The latter recalled again something of the spirit of those hours.
"Say," asked Bobby, "h'ain't yuh spent all yer coin yet?"
"No. I have n't had time to spend more than a few dollars since I left you. I ought to have hung on to you as a mascot."
"It's a cinch. I c'u'd a-helped yuh if yer 'd follered me. Me ten spot's gone."
"How'd you do it?"
"Huh? Yuh talks as though a feller'd have to hunt round an' find a hole to drop it inter. Dere 's allers one that's handy, 'n' that's th' rent hole."
"That does n't come on you, does it? Where's your Daddy?"
"Dead," answered the boy laconically.
The word had a new meaning to Donaldson as it fell from the lips of the boy. Dead. It was a terrible word.
"Guess th' ol' gent must ha' thought I was comin' to join him a minute ago. Would ha' been sort of rough on Mumsy."