“You’re chock full of compliments, aren’t you?” asked Jimmy. “Called us Eskimos a few minutes ago, I think.”
“No, you got that wrong, Harold. What I meant——”
“Cut that out! My name isn’t Harold.”
“Oh, all right. I couldn’t know, could I?” asked the other innocently. “About the Eskimo Twins, though. It’s like this. You see, this is my first visit to your big and wicked city and the fellows out home told me I’d surely be spotted by the confidence men. Well, I’ve been in New York since yesterday afternoon and not a blessed one of them’s been near me. Made me feel downright lonesome, it did so! And when you fellows came along I just naturally thought someone was going to take a little notice of me at last. You didn’t look like con men, but they say you can’t tell by appearances. Sorry I made the mistake, fellows. Dutch Haskell—he’s Sheriff out in Windlass—got to talking with a couple of nice-looking fellows in Chicago once and they invited him to go and see the Eskimo Twins, and Dutch fell for it and it cost him four hundred dollars. That’s why I mentioned the Twins. Wanted you fellows to know I wasn’t as green as I looked, even if I did come from the innocent west.”
“That’s rot,” said Jimmy severely. “You didn’t mistake us for confidence men. You only pretended to.”
Dud was secretly rather amused at Jimmy’s ruffled temper. This breezy stranger was the first person Dud had ever seen who was capable of causing Jimmy to forget his highly developed sense of humor.
“Well,” answered the boy in the opposite seat, smilingly, “I dare say you are a little too young for a life of crime.”
“I guess we’re not much younger than you are,” replied Jimmy, with the suggestion of a sneer.
“No, about the same age, probably. I’m sixteen and seven-eighths. Is there a parlor car on this train?”
“Yes, it’s about two cars forward,” answered Dud.