“How mucha you know?” he asked cautiously.
“That you acted as a guide to G.I.’s in Italy and stowed aboard a troopship coming to this country. Even now, I guess authorities aren’t certain how you slipped past New York officials.”
“No trouble,” boasted the lad. “On ship my friendsa the G.I.’s they feeda me. We dock New York; I hide under bunk; all G.I.’s leava boat. Boat go to other dock. Sailor friend giva me clothes. Sailors leave-a boat. I slippa out. No one geta wise.”
“Then where did you go?”
“Stay in-a New York only two—three days. Go hitchhike into country. Work-a on farm. No like it. Hear Immigration men-a come, so I go. Come-a one day to swamp. Good place; I stay.”
“You’ve not had an easy time keeping alive in this dismal place,” Penny said sympathetically. “Isn’t that Trapper Joe’s gun?”
“Steal-a one night,” the boy agreed. “Give back some-a time.”
Penny studied the youth with growing concern. “Tony,” she said, “you can’t hope to stay here long. The only sensible thing is to give yourself up.”
“No! I die first! American best country in all-a the world! No one ever take-a me back!”
“But you can’t expect to elude Immigration officials very long. If you give yourself up, they might be lenient with you.”