Perhaps it was what the stranger said, perhaps the way he said it, but something caused them all to turn and stare at him.
He was a young fellow of about twenty-three or four and of very shabby appearance. The threadbare suit which he wore must have seen long service and either it had never been a very trim fit or he had lost flesh. His face, indeed, seemed to imply this, being thin and pale, and there was a kind of haunting look in his eyes.
But his demeanor was creditable, he seemed quite free of any taint of the shiftlessness which his appearance might have suggested, and his amusement at the scouts’ bantering nonsense was open and pleasant. Mr. Bennett contemplated him with just a tinge of dubiousness in his look. But the scouts liked him.
“What’s the nature of the work?” Mr. Bennett asked.
The young man seemed a trifle uneasy at being directly questioned but no one would have said it was more than the diffidence which any sensitive young fellow might show towards strangers.
“It’s taking down two or three buildings,” he said; “just shacks. My name is Blythe.”
“Here in town?”
“No, up at the old camp.”
“Oh, you mean Camp Merritt? I heard the government sold the whole shebang. What are they doing? Putting gangs to work up there?”
“I’ll help you tear down Camp Merritt!” Pee-wee shouted.