“I never hearda yah,” Jack said loftily. “Where you from?”
“A bigger place ’n’ this dump,” Timmy said. “New York.”
“Yeah?” Jack let a note of admiration creep into his voice. “Yeah, really New York? What do your folks do?”
Timmy made a face. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly as he said, “I ain’t got folks. We was in a fire. I was the only one didn’t get killed.”
“Aw, gee,” Jack said, his quick sympathy overcoming his acting.
“It’s okay. I gotta pal in Boston. He said any time I wanted tah leave home I should look him up. He has a racket up there. Pretty good dough, I guess,” Timmy said.
“You in trouble with the cops?”
Timmy made a face at the mention of the law. “Naw,” he said, finally. “But I jest hate ’em. I never even had a chance to square myself wid ’em. The other guys said I was too little to heist stuff yet.”
“You ain’t got no relatives? Nobody?”
“That’s right,” Timmy said proudly. “Now, shut up. I’m sick a talkin’.”