Jack looked over at the pathetic figure on the cot. He hesitated. His natural outgoing affection battled with his ideas of what he must do. At last, he willed himself to speak roughly.
“Why don’t you drop dead?” he said.
The boy looked around.
“Think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” Jack baited. “You ain’t so much!”
The boy stared at him.
“I hear you rode a freight into town.”
“Yeah,” the boy admitted.
“So did I. Some fun, eh?”
There was a long pause.
“Who are you?” the boy finally asked.