Barry Elder had stood still at her words. His expression changed. He turned and pointed to a blanket from the floor flung over a chair.
She slipped behind it.
Calling to his dog to behave and keep still, Barry stepped over to the door and opened it.
"Oh, Barry Elder! Gee, I thought this was your place but I didn't know you were here," Johnny Byrd declared in relief. "I saw the smoke and knew there was somebody about. . . . Gee, have you got any food?"
Slowly Barry surveyed him.
Johnny Byrd was not punctiliously turned out; he was streaked and muddied; his blue eyes were rimmed with red as if his night's rest had not been wholly soothing; he had no cap and his hair had clearly been combed back by fingers into its restless roach.
Barry's eyes appreciated each detail. "Hello, Johnny," he remarked without affability. "How did you happen to toddle over for breakfast?"
Johnny was not critical of tones. "Oh, never mind the damned details," he said bitterly. "Gawd, I could eat a raw cow. . . . Say, you haven't seen any one pass here lately, have you? I mean has any one been by at all?"
"I haven't seen any one pass here at all," said Barry Elder.
"Sure? But have you been looking out? Say, what other way is there—Oh, my Lord, is that coffee? Or do I only dream I smell it? I haven't had a bite since the middle of yesterday. Let me get to it."