“No, of course I’m not one of the La Rue gang,” declared Ralph, in an indignant tone. “If I was I guess I might have better quarters. Open up now, will you?”
“I’m a-comin’! I’m a-comin’. Gosh all fish hooks, but yer in a tearin’ hurry, young fellow.”
“So’d you be if you’d gone through a quarter of what I have in the last few hours,” replied Ralph.
The door was flung open and a lamp held high above the head of the shack’s occupant. Seemingly he wanted to make sure of Ralph before he admitted him.
“City, be’ant you?” he asked.
“Well, I’ve been around in cities a bit,” confessed Ralph.
“Oh, well, none the worse for that, I dessay. Come in. You don’t look as if you’d bite.”
Ralph caught himself recalling some recent moving pictures on board the River Swallow.
“Oh, I don’t know,” rejoined the boy, with a smile he could not control, “just give me something to bite on and I’ll see what I can do with it.”
The old man set out baked beans and bacon, cold potatoes, cold corn and a piece of soggy pie.