“Come along ’ere, cocky,” the man said. “If we go along this road a piece, we can easy cut across later.”
They turned up a road which opened to the north not far from the city hall. The houses near it were small adobe bungalows, with roofs of red tiles. The stars in the heaven shone like lamps.
“I say, look at the stars,” Hi said.
“Are you being pleasant?” the man asked. “You’re doing ‘Oh, the starlight’; but they’re cocky little bleeders, stars.”
They walked on together for a minute, till they were in the midst of a grove, where a night singing bird was making a plaintive, exquisite haunting call. The man paused.
“What was the nime of the plice you was goin’ to?” he asked.
“Anselmo.”
“Anselmo, that was it; Anselmo.” He seemed to think for an instant. “Well, there’s no plice of that nime anywheres abaht ’ere.”
“But you said you knew it,” Hi said.
“What was the nime agine?”