He stood a second with tense muscles balanced on the balls of his feet. The ragged man looking at the photogravures of a Sunday paper had a face he had seen before. “Hello,” he said vaguely. “I knew who you were all along,” said the man without holding out his hand. “You’re Lily Herf’s boy.... I thought you werent going to speak to me.... No reason why you should.”
“Oh of course you must be Cousin Joe Harland.... I’m awfully glad to see you.... I’ve often wondered about you.”
“Wondered what?”
“Oh I dunno ... funny you never think of your relatives
as being people like yourself, do you?” Herf sat down in the seat again. “Will you have a cigarette.... It’s only a Camel.”
“Well I dont mind if I do.... What’s your business Jimmy? You dont mind if I call you that do you?” Jimmy Herf lit a match; it went out, lit another and held it for Harland. “That’s the first tobacco I’ve had in a week ... Thank you.”
Jimmy glanced at the man beside him. The long hollow of his gray cheek made a caret with the deep crease that came from the end of his mouth. “You think I’m pretty much of a wreck dont you?” spat Harland. “You’re sorry you sat down aint you? You’re sorry you had a mother who brought you up a gentleman instead of a cad like the rest of ’em....”
“Why I’ve got a job as a reporter on the Times ... a hellish rotten job and I’m sick of it,” said Jimmy, drawling out his words.
“Dont talk like that Jimmy, you’re too young.... You’ll never get anywhere with that attitude.”
“Well suppose I dont want to get anywhere.”