He suddenly remembered when last he had put the same question, and almost flushed at the memory. Then, as now, he had been seeking a friend. He had been a long time finding one.
“Yes, much,” said Eve. “I always walk back. I like it, and it saves the pennies.”
“I like it, and try not to remember that it saves the pennies,” he remarked whimsically. “ ’Tisn’t bad being poor when one doesn’t mean to be poor for ever. I have tremendous beliefs that this is only a passing stage, haven’t you?”
“A valley?”
“Yes, which in passing through gives us the answer to all manner of whys and wherefores.”
Eve nodded. “What a queer old street!” she said. “I haven’t been this way before.”
“There’s a coffee stall at the corner where I buy provender; that’s why I brought you. There it is.”
They stopped at the stall, with the proprietor of which Wynne seemed on excellent terms, and bought some hard-boiled eggs, “balls of chalk” as they are familiarly called.
“A friend to every one that man is,” said Wynne as they proceeded on their way. “Does all manner of good turns to the queer folk whose business keeps ’em abroad late. He lent me three suppers once, at a time when I needed them badly.”
From a glowing oven on wheels nearer his lodging they bought baked potatoes.