"In an elevator. Kind of box you get into. Whiz, up she goes like that!"
Bela's face showed strong incredulity. She let the subject drop.
"You got fat'er, mot'er out there, Sam?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Both dead."
"You got no people 'tall?" she asked, quick with sympathy.
"Brothers," he said grimly. "Three of them. They don't think much of me."
One question followed another, and the time flew by. They were making famous progress now. They ate. Afterward Sam stretched out in the grass with his hands under his head, and told his story freely.
"Gad, what a relief to talk!" he said. "I haven't really opened up since we left Prince George. Those fellows, they're all right in their way, but pretty coarse. We don't hit it off much. I keep mum to avoid trouble."
"I lak hear you talk," murmured Bela softly.
"My brothers are all a lot older than I," Sam went on. "I was the baby of the family. It's considerable of a handicap to a kid. They baby you along until after you're grown up, then all of a sudden they expect you to stand alone.