“Marcy me! out in the night? S’posin’ it’d rained?”
“I’d got wet, I s’pose, seein’ I’m not canvas-backed,” with a grin.
“And got your death of cold?”
“Ain’t so sure on that, mister. Th’ sun has alwus dried a feller out slick, and I ain’t heerd as he’s goin’ out’n bizness jis yit.”
“What do you do, Chick?—I think you said that was your name?”
“Pick up odd jobs, by which I can turn a penny, sir. My family is small, so I don’t hev to hev much.”
“Ain’t you got any folks?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you get tired of living like this?”
“Don’t know any other way, mister.”