It was not an elegant speech, and Pete was an uncommonly disreputable-looking lad, with his grimy face and hands and his tattered garments, but there was a ring of gratitude and earnestness in his tone that went straight to Andy's heart, and he held out his hand with:
"You're the right sort, Pete."
"Anyhow, I don't go back on a pardner," said Pete, shaking the proffered hand awkwardly.
Andy was in need of sympathy at just that moment, and he was really very glad of the friendship of the little waif, who was so old in experience if so young in years.
He would not have selected Pete for a friend and confidant; but there he was, at hand, with his sympathy ready, and Andy was moved to take him into his confidence.
"I say, Pete," he began, and stopped.
"Say it," said Pete.
But at that moment Andy had caught sight of his man with the child, and he exclaimed: "Do you see that man, Pete?"