"Nope. Tumbled in here 'bout three days ago from Albany. Too cold up there. I aint got the hang of it yet. Bum town, I'd say. Though you can't tell about a town till you learn it."
A rolled up newspaper lay on the path before them. The young man without an overcoat made a grab for it, shooting a skinny chapped forearm out of the frayed sleeve of his coat.
"Useful things, newspapers," he said as they walked on. Then he turned and looked at Wenny fixedly a minute. "Lost your job?... You aint bummed much, have you? Lost your job?"
"I've hardly been out of Boston."
They were rounding the dry basin of one of the ponds that was piled with muddy snow from the paths.
"Et today?"
"Of course.... Look, I've still got a couple of dollars. Suppose you come and have a drink with me. Say, what's your name?"
"The guys called me Whitey down where I come from. And say, if you want to set me up to something for Gawd's sake make it a hamburger steak. Honest, I aint et a thing since I been in Boston city."
"Gosh, come along. I'll take you to Jake's."
"Hell, it don't hurt you not to eat onct you git used to it. I kin go days without eatin' an' never notice it."