But the boy smiled, looking at him with shining eyes. “We might walk up and down,” he suggested.
“Oh, walk—if you want to!” growled Simeon. He fell into a quick trot, matching the boy’s stride.
“Things are bad down there!” He jerked out the words. “Damn fool work!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the fault’s here.” He nodded toward the maze of tracks that stretched away in the dark.
“Tomlinson is an old man,” said the boy.
“Old fool!” retorted the other. “Must have been asleep—drunk!”
“I don’t think he drinks,” said the boy quietly. “The hours are long—he ’s old—he may have dropped off.”
“He ’ll drop off now,” said the other grimly, “—way off—How long will it take—this moving business?”
The boy waited a minute. “I want to come now, sir, right off—tomorrow. But my mother is not well—You see we must wait for the right day, and there is the house to look out for and my father—”