The Runt was the kind of person who tells how he is when any one asks him. He had no imagination, so he stuck to the middle of the road for fear he might get lost.
"I'm jes' tol'able, Clay. I got a kinda misery in my laigs from trompin' these hyer streets. My feet are plumb burnin' up. You didn't answer my letters, so I come to see if you was all right."
"You old scalawag. You came to paint the town red."
Johnnie, highly delighted at this charge, protested. "Honest I didn't, Clay. I wasn't feelin' so tur'ble peart. Seemed like the boys picked on me after you left. So I jes' up and come."
If Clay was not delighted to have his little Fidus Achates on his hands he gave no sign of it. He led him across the road and introduced him to Miss Whitford.
Clay blessed her for her kindness to this squat, snub-nosed adherent of his whose lonely heart had driven him two thousand miles to find his friend. It would have been very easy to slight him, but Beatrice had no thought of this. The loyalty of the little man touched her greatly. Her hand went out instantly. A smile softened her eyes and dimpled her cheeks.
"I'm very glad to meet any friend of Mr. Lindsay. Father and I will want to hear all about Arizona after you two have had your visit out. We'll postpone the ride till this afternoon. That will be better, I think."
Clay agreed. He grudged the loss of his hour with her, but under the circumstances it had to be. For a moment he and Beatrice stood arranging the time for their proposed ride. Then, with a cool little nod that included them both, she turned and ran lightly up the steps into the house.
"Some sure-enough queen," murmured Johnnie in naïve admiration, staring after her with open mouth.
Clay smiled. He had an opinion of his own on that point.
Johnnie Green gave an upward jerk to the frying-pan and caught the flapjack deftly as it descended.
"Fust and last call for breakfast in the dining-cyar. Come and get it, old-timer," he sang out to Clay.
That young man emerged from his bedroom glowing. He was one or two shades of tan lighter than when he had reached the city, but the paint of Arizona's untempered sun still distinguished him from the native-born, if there are any such among the inhabitants of upper New York.
