“So long. Shippin’ any these days, Jim?”
“Nope. Boss never dribbles ’em out. When he ships he ships. Ain’t none gone over the rails since last Fall.”
He stepped off briskly and vaulted the fence with as lightsome an air as though he were bent on the one errand his heart would choose, and swung up the track carelessly humming a tune. But he had a vise-like grip on his cob pipe. His teeth bit through the frail stem. It split. He tossed the remains away with a gesture of nervous contempt. A whistle sounded. He quickened his pace. If he missed her,—well, the Boss was a good fellow, took a lot of nonsense from the boys, but there were things he would not stand for. Jim did not need to be told that this would be one of them.
The platform was crowded. The yellow sunlight fell slantingly on the gay groups.
“Aw, Munson, you’re bluffin’,” jested the mail carrier. “You ain’t lookin’ fer nobody; you know you ain’t. You ain’t got no folks. Don’t believe you never had none. Never heard of ’em.”
“Lookin’ for my uncle,” explained Jim, serenely. “Rich old codger from the State o’ Pennsylvaney some’ers. Ain’t got nobody but me left.”
“Aw, come off! What you givin’ us?”
But Jim only winked and slouched off, prime for more adventures. He was enjoying himself hugely,—when he was not thinking of petticoats.
[CHAPTER V—AT THE BON AMI]
Unlike most of those who ride much, her escort was a fast walker. Louise had trouble in keeping up with him, though she had always considered herself a good pedestrian. But Jim Munson was laboring under strange embarrassment. He was red-facedly conscious of the attention he was attracting striding up the inclined street from the station in the van of the prettiest and most thoroughbred girl who had struck Velpen this long time.