“Sure.”
Eastman sprang up the steps until he came in reach of Anderson's proffered handful of matches. “Hotter 'n blazes,” he remarked, as he scratched a match on his trousers leg.
“Hottest night of the season so far, I think,” responded Anderson.
“I'm about beat out with it,” said Eastman, lighting his cigar with no difficulty in the dead atmosphere. He threw himself sprawling on the step at Anderson's feet, without any invitation. “Whew!” he sighed.
“It 'll be hotter than hades in the City to-morrow,” he remarked, after a moment's silence.
Anderson muttered an assent. He was considering as nervously as a woman whether he should say anything to this boy. While he was hesitating, young Eastman himself led up to it.
“Saw you in the drug store just now,” he remarked.
“Yes; you were with—”
“Bessy Van Dorn—yes. Pretty girl?” Eastman spoke with the insufferable air of patronizing criticism of extreme masculine youth towards the opposite sex.
“Very,” replied Anderson, dryly.