Barry calmly rolled the three buttonless coats together and put them under his arm.
“Were you going to River Street to see anyone in particular?”
“No, mistah—jes’ thought I’d sauntah roun’. Mebbe call on Mis’ Tingsby; but, law me, dis niggah furgits. She aint dah. She’s moved to de lubley green country.”
“Brick,” said Barry, seriously, “you are happy here?”
Brick made a face.
“O, excuse me,” continued Barry, “I forgot. Of course you are not happy. You long for the old free life—for dirt and rags, and an empty stomach, for kicks instead of thanks.”
Brick hung his head. He had sense enough to know when he was being laughed at.
“Sure enough, mistah,” he said, “de meals dey didn’t come reglah in dose days. Dey played chase.”
“And the dirty, low people. How you must have enjoyed living with them. And the tramp, your master—what a sweet creature!”
“He used to wallop Brick awful,” and the boy ruefully rubbed his shoulder. “I’se glad I runned away from him.”