Johnny scarcely needed to be told that this youth was consumed by some great desire. He could read it in the two smouldering coals of fire that were his eyes. Indeed, as he recalled the meeting later and tried to summon a mental picture of this new-found friend, he could visualize only a pair of glowing eyes, that was all.
Johnny was invited to join them at their evening meal. What was said during that half hour Johnny does not recall. That it was unimportant is to be assumed. That which followed was important. The nameless youth invited him for a walk. And what a walk it turned out to be!
At a rapid stride the stranger led the way straight out of the business section of the city into a wilderness of apartment houses. Nor did he pause here. On and on they went. A mile of streets filled with children, of apartments where home lights were glowing. Here, through some windows they caught glimpses of little circles gathered around the evening meal, of happy groups about a piano, or some elderly couple seated reading beside a lamp.
A mile of this, two miles, three. Few words were spoken. “And this is what he calls a little walk!” Johnny all but groaned aloud.
Still there was no pause. Four miles, then five and six. Johnny was beginning to believe it was a practical joke, when suddenly the strange youth turned upon him.
“Johnny Thompson,” he said, with his eyes fairly glowing in the night, “have you seen those homes?”
“Yes, I—”
“How many were there?”
“Thousands.”
“How many honest people live in them?”