"Fourteen, accordin' to the way I figger it."
"Don't you know?"
"Well, you see, old Miss Washburn—she was the woman that claimed to bring me up, though it's precious little she did towards it—wasn't no ways certain herself, but that's what she allowed, so it's good enough for me."
"Haven't got any folks, eh?"
"Well, I did have a mother, you know, till I was a couple of years old, so Miss Washburn says."
"Where's your father?"
"You see, I never had one, leastways not what you would call a real father, 'cause when a man is a reg'lar gin-pig, no decent feller is goin' to own up that he's his relation. The last time I saw him he was goin' down on the Island for ninety days, an' that was as much as three years ago."
"You've still got the fool idea in your mind that you're going to be a fireman?"
"It ain't any fool idea, Mr. Davis, 'cause it's a fact. That's jest what I count on bein'."
"Look here, my son, I've been thinking about you a considerable bit since I found it was no use trying to scare you out of the plan, and in a year's time or so, I reckon, between the captain and Walters and me, we can get you in up to headquarters. Now, don't jump so! I didn't mean we allowed you could go there as a recruit; but the captain was saying the other night that we might work it so's you could get some kind of a berth there—sweeping floors, washing windows, and the like of that, which, if you keep your ears and eyes open, would amount to the same as if you went into actual training. You ain't the lad I've got in my eye if you couldn't soon work your way into one of the classes."