“It may be, but there are river robbers in this section. They told us that where we bought the gasoline. These may be the robbers, for all I know, but we ought to make sure of that before turning them down. They’ll starve here, if they have lost their boat and provisions. Of course they can get wild game, but I don’t see how they are going to cook it. We ought to give them a chance, anyway.”
Clay went back to the deck and listened to the conversation between Case and the visitor, who seemed a little annoyed at the doubting of his word.
“Where did you live in Chicago?” he heard Case ask.
“In furnished rooms on Elizabeth street, near Washington boulevard,” was the reply.
“Where did you work?” was the next question, impertinent and personal, but seemingly necessary at that time.
“At a machine shop on Clinton street, not far from West Madison.
“Then you are machinists?”
“Yes, all of us. Business is dull in our line just now, and we thought we’d make a hit with ourselves by spending a winter in the south.”
“When did you leave Chicago?”
“We left Chicago last September,” answered the man, turning toward the rail. “We expect to get back sometime during the next century, if all Chicago boys are as hospitable as you are! Now, with your permission, I’ll go back to my friends.”