"Why, because of that foolish trick of mine—the packet of newspapers. She thought I had my money pinned to my underwaist all the time."
The boy's eyes twinkled shrewdly. "Huh! maybe," he said. "But you don't know a thing about her. 'Tisn't very smart to make acquaintances on the cars, I calculate."
"Goodness! hear the boy!" gasped Janice. "Sit down here. I want to know all about it—— Why, Marty!"
"Huh? What's sprung a leak now?"
"It must have been you who gave me that lunch!"
"Oh! on the train coming down from the Landing? Sure," Marty answered. "I knew you'd never think of getting anything decent to eat yourself."
"You blessed angel boy!"
"Oh! I'm a Sarah Finn, I am—as Walky Dexter calls 'em."
"Calls what?"
"Angels," said the boy, grinning. "There's one breed called something that sounds like Sarah Finn."