"I wouldn't be long, if I had to listen to all the guys that ain't got anything better to do than block up doorways and try to be fresh."
He laughed louder and lolled up against the woodwork.
"I like you fine," said he. "Are you a permanency or just a fleeting vision?"
"Talking of fleeting visions, ain't it about your dinner hour?"
"You act to me as if this was your first job," was his answer, sort of thoughtful.
Wouldn't it make you smile! It did me—a small quiet smile all to myself. He saw it, dropped his head to one side and said, as smooth and sweet as molasses:
"What do they call you, little one?"
It was all I could do to keep from laughing, but I crumpled up my forehead into a scowl and looked cross at him:
"What my name is you'll never know and what yours is you needn't tell me for I've guessed. I've met members of your tribe before—it's large and prominent—the ancient and honorable order of jackasses."
He made me a low bow.