"It seems strange, Tom," she said at length, "that you should be here in New York alone."
"I ain't alone," he replied, "not exactly alone. I's boarding with a lady from the South."
"Why, that's just the way it is with me," Hertha said. "Isn't that odd!"
"Do you get enough to eat?" Tom asked.
"Plenty. Don't you?"
"Oh, I suppose so," the boy said tolerantly. "It stand ter reason city folks can't feed you like they do at home. When you have to put down a nickel or a dime for every mite o' food you buy, for every pinch o' corn meal, and every orange, it comes hard to set much on the table. And if a feller goes out to one o' these restaurants to feed, why before he's reached the pie, if he don't look out, he's eat up his day's wages."
"Eaten, Tom."
"Yes'm, eaten."
"I do hope you aren't going to be careless in the way you talk, Tom. I hope you haven't learned a lot of new slang."
"Yes'm."