“Why, yes, we can give you something to eat,” answered Hal, a trifle tremulously, “but we haven’t started supper yet. If you want to wait—”
“Aw, where do you get that stuff?” interrupted the smaller man, thrusting forward to the fire and holding his hands to the warmth. “We ain’t society folks, bo. We can eat any time!”
“Shut up, Slim,” growled his companion. “Sure, we’ll wait. Somethin’ hot’s what I’m cravin’, an’ not no cold hand-out.”
“Say, listen—” began the other, but he stopped at a menacing scowl and only muttered, darting a nervous look toward a window. Bert and Hal had exchanged troubled glances that had in some manner established the understanding that Hal was to do the talking and Bert was to take his cue from him. Hal pulled another chair to the hearth.
“Better get warm,” he suggested. “It—it’s sort of cold, isn’t it?” He seated himself on Bert’s cot, yielding his chair to the man called Slim.
“You said it,” agreed the bigger man almost amiably, as the chair creaked under his weight. “You guys live here all the time?”
“Oh, no, we’re just here for a few days. We’re from Central City.”
“Huh, must be sort of lonely.”
Hal agreed that it was, sort of. He was doing a good deal of thinking, a lot more than he was accustomed to, was Hal; and he was ready for the next question when it came.