“You ain’t ever met me before, I know,” she said. “But don’t you know me by my picture?”
Jim shook his head in perplexity.
“I’d a-knowed you any place.”
For the first time in Phil’s experience of Jim, the latter stood abashed.
“You might have come to meet me at the train though. Guess you was just comin’. I wrote you three days since.”
“You did, eh! Well,––I never got your letter,” bantered Jim, recovering his composure.
She was a pretty piece of femininity, despite her poor language and her somewhat tawdry finery.
“I think you’re stringing me. But say!––I’m awful hungry, and I’ve been two days in the train.
“Ain’t you goin’ to get me some eats, Sol?”