Varney stared down at the small apparition before him with momentary unrecognition.
"Why—Tommy! Heaven bless us! Where did you spring from, boy?"
Tommy's eyes fell in awe, but sure enough, he was sticking out his small flipper in salutation. In fact, he had shaken hands a number of times since that first memorable occasion, and, in his way, was gradually beginning to catch the spirit of the thing.
"Kem up on the two-forty-five. Wit' Hauser's band. Got a loan of t'ree bucks off a frien'."
"The mischief you did! Where do you find friends like that nowadays? But what on earth made you pop back here? To hear Hauser's play and see all the fireworks?"
Tommy examined his toe with affected interest and shook his head.
"What then? Don't you like it in New York?"
"Yasser. Noo York's all right, it is." And reluctantly he added: "You be'n sick, ain't you? Thought I'd come and see how you was makin' it. Come afore now, on'y I couldn't get next to de price."
"Tommy," said Varney, snuggling the boy's left hand into his own right and resuming the promenade, "you're a mighty good friend to me."
They emerged into the street where a double line of vehicles, some of them gay with bright hats and parasols, flanked the curb on either side, and Varney turned north, his back to the square, unconscious of the many curious glances that were flung at him as he passed.