Scipio looked up in a dazed fashion. Then he halted and seemed to pull himself together. Finally he spoke.
“Howdy?” he said in a mechanical sort of way.
“Guess I’m a heap better,” responded Sunny, with twinkling eyes.
Scipio gazed up at the store in a bewildered way. He saw the great letters in which Minky’s name and occupation were inscribed on its pretentious front, and it seemed to bring back his purpose to his distracted mind. Instantly the other’s words became intelligible to him, and his native kindliness prompted him.
“You been sick?” he demanded.
“Wal, not rightly sick, but––ailin’.” Sunny’s smile broadened till a mouthful of fairly decent teeth showed through the fringe of his ragged mustache.
“Ailin’?”
“Yep. Guess I bin overdoin’ it.”
“It don’t do, working too hard in the heat,” said Scipio absently.
“Sure,” replied Sunny. “It’s been a hard job avoidin’ it. Ther’s allus folk ready to set me workin’. That’s just the way o’ things. What I need is rest. Say, you ain’t workin’?”