He broke into a laugh and lifted his hand in the sudden gesture of a traffic policeman commanding a halt.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You know I was so excited I clean forgot to introduce myself! What do you think o' that? You'll excuse me, won't you? My name's Jim Anthony. I'm sorry I can't give you any references to my folks. I haven't any—I'm a lost sheep in New York—no father or mother. That's why I'm so excited about this trip I'm plannin' down South. I hear I've got some people down there.”
He stopped suddenly as if absorbed in the thought. Her heart went out to him in sympathy for this confession of his orphaned life.
“I'm Mary Adams,” she smiled in answer. “I'm a teacher in the public schools.”
“Gee—that accounts for it! I thought you looked like you knew everything in those books. And you've been to Asheville, too?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose it's not as big a burg as New York?”
“Hardly—it's just a hustling mountain town of about twenty-five thousand people.”
“Lot o' swells from around New York live down there, they tell me.”