“Of course, you’re a good deal taller and heavier than I am,” went on Mr. Baxter, staring ahead. “You don’t take after me when it comes to size and build. Been out in the open a good bit, I see. It’s done you a lot of good.” He shot a glance at his son’s rugged, tanned face. “Yes, and your eyes are clear and bright. I guess you haven’t done much drinking or staying up late o’ nights.”
“I don’t drink very much—very little, in fact. Never have. In my business a fellow has to have his wits about him. As for being up late nights, I have seen many a night when I didn’t go to bed at all.”
“That sounds bad,” said Mr. Baxter sourly. “I don’t see how it could help interfering with your work.”
“It didn’t interfere with it. You see, I was working all night.”
“Extra pay?”
“No, sir. Just extra work.”
Mr. Baxter cackled, cutting it short to toot his horn viciously for the benefit of a dog crossing the street two or three hundred feet away.
“I’m just learning,” he explained.
“So I see,” said his son, crimping his toes suddenly and then relaxing them as his father swung safely around a corner.
“Only had her about six weeks.”