“God.”
There was a pause at this point, while the man put down his lamp. Hi had become used to scurvy welcomes from the natives of Santa Barbara, but this man was a fellow-countryman with some traces of breeding in him. The man sat on the edge of his hammock, with his feet upon a low wooden stool. He swung himself to and fro while he seemed to consider.
“Got any oof?” he asked at last.
“None here. I have some in Santa Barbara.”
“And I suppose you’ve got some in the savings bank at home?”
“Yes.”
“God,” the man said. “My God, my Father, while I stray.”
“Very well,” Hi said. “If this is all the welcome you can give me, I can go on. I am sorry if I have intruded.”
“Have you got a pack of cards?” the man asked.
“No. I’ll wish you good-night,” Hi said.