“That went t’ th’ right place, didn’t it?” asked Jack, with twinkling eyes.
“That it did!” assented Allan, heartily. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taken pity on me,” he added. “I was simply starving.”
“You had your breakfast this mornin’, didn’t y’?” demanded Jack, sharply.
Allan coloured a little under his fierce gaze.
“No, sir, I didn’t,” he said, rather hoarsely. “I couldn’t find any work to do, and I—I couldn’t beg!”
Jack looked at him without speaking, but his eyes were suspiciously bright.
“So you see, I just had to have this job,” Allan went on. “And now that I’ve got it, I’m going to do my best to keep it!”
Jack turned away for a moment, before he could trust himself to speak.
“I like your grit,” he said, at last. “It’s th’ right kind. An’ you won’t have any trouble keepin’ your job. But, man alive, why didn’t y’ tell me y’ was hungry? Jest a hint would ’a’ been enough! Why, th’ wife’ll never fergive me when she hears about it!”
He stopped without finishing the sentence.
“Well, I’ll fergive y’ this time,” said Jack. “Are y’ sure y’ve ate all y’ kin hold?”
“Every mite,” Allan assured him, his heart warming toward the friendly, weather-beaten face that looked at him so kindly. “I couldn’t eat another morsel!”
“All right, then; we’ll see that it don’t occur ag’in,” said Jack, putting the cover on his pail, and then stretching out in an easier position. “Now, d’ y’ want a stiddy job here?” he asked.
“I guess y’ kin git it, all right. But how about your home?”
“I haven’t any home,” and the boy gazed out across the fields, his lips quivering a little despite his efforts to keep them still.
The foreman looked at him for a moment. There was something in the face that moved him, and he held out his hand impulsively.
“Here, shake!” he said. “I’m your friend.”
The boy put his hand in the great, rough palm extended to him, but he did not speak—his throat was too full for that.
“Now, if you’re goin’ t’ stay,” went on the other, “you’ve got t’ have some place t’ board. I’ll board an’ room y’ fer three dollars a week. It won’t be like Delmonicer’s, but y’ won’t starve—y’ll git yer three square meals a day. That’ll leave y’ four-fifty a week fer clothes an’ things. How’ll that suit y’?”