It was Chick who at last broke the silence.
“Lemme see!” said he, “your name’s Alfred, ain’t it? They call you Fred; but your right name’s Alfred, ain’t it?”
“Yes. Why?”
The young man seemed to evince little curiosity, and to ask the question more as a matter of form than because of a desire to seek information.
“Oh, nothin’ much,” replied Chick. “Only, if you was, now, writin’ a letter, say to a girl, you’d sign your name Alfred, I s’pose?”
Young Lewis awakened out of his apparent lethargy and glanced down curiously at the boy who was, with some effort, keeping up with him.
“Why, I suppose so,” he said. “What do you want to know for?”
Chick did not reply to the question, but, after a habit he had, he asked another one instead.
“And if you was writin’ to any girl, you’d most likely be writin’ to a girl name o’ Rachael, I s’pose?”
The young fellow stopped suddenly, faced sharply toward the boy, and laid a hand on his shoulder.