"He! he!" giggled Andy, "if you'd seen him munch the pastry an' biscuit, an' our biggest cuts of tenderloin, an' then plank down his pennies to Mis' Wart here, thinkin' he'd paid for all! Innocent as a staggerin' calf, that old chap! Says I to him last week, when we were leavin' the market, havin' my joke, says I,—
"'Pervisions is goin' down, Mr. Starke.'
"'It hadn't occurred to me, Andrew,' he says, in his dazed way. 'But you know, doubtless,' says he, with one of his queer bows, touchin' the banged old felt he sticks on the back of his head.
"'Yes, I know,' says I. An' I took his hand an' pulled it through my arm, an' we walked down to Arch. Dunno what the girls thought, seein' me in sech ragged company. Don't care. He's a brick, old Joe.
"Says he, 'Ef I hed hed your practical knowledge, at your age, Andrew, it might hev been better for the cause of science this day,' an' buttons up his coat.
"'Pears as if he wasn't used to wearin' shirts, an' so hed got that trick o' buttonin' up. But he has a appreciatin' eye, he has,—more than th' common,—much more." And Andy crossed his legs, and looked down, and coughed in a modest, deprecating way.
"Well," finding no one spoke, "I've found that meal, sure enough, is his breakfast, dinner, an' supper. I calls it luncheon to him, in a easy, gentlemanly sort of way. I believe I never mentioned to you," looking at Jane, "how I smuggled him into the pants you made, you thinkin' him a friend of mine? As he is."
"No," said the woman.
"As with the pants, so with coat, an' shirt; likewise boots,"—checking off each with a rub on his trousers.
Andy's tongue was oiled, and ran glibly.