“Yes, we heard about the strike. We’re supposed to have oil on our ranch—at least, my Uncle Eby used to say he’d come onto signs of it; but he’s dead, and I never seen ’em, and I never expected no luck for our family. But they say Aunt Allie here is a-goin’ to be rich.” A sudden vision flashed over Bunny—of Mrs. Groarty, in her shiny robe of yellow satin, and her large bare arms and bosom. “Tell me,” he said, “does your aunt roll?” “Gosh, no!” said the other. “She married a Romanist, and Pap calls her the Whore of Babylon, and we’re not supposed to speak to her no more. But she’s kind, and I knew she’d gimme some grub, so when I found I couldn’t get a job, I come here.” “Why couldn’t you get a job?” “’Cause everybody lectures you and tells you to go back home.” “But why do you tell them about it?” “You have to. They ask where you live, and why ain’t you at home; and I ain’t a-goin’ to lie.” “But you can’t starve!” “I can before I’ll go crooked. I had a fuss with Pap, and he says, if you depart from the Holy Word, the devil gets you, and you lie and cheat and steal and fornicate; and I says, ‘Well, sir, I’ll show you. I think a fellow can be decent without no devil.’ I made up my mind, and I’m a-goin’ to show him. I’ll pay back Aunt Allie, so I’m only borrowin’ this grub.” Bunny held out his hand in the darkness. “You take this,” he said. “What is it?” “Some money.” “No, sir, I don’t want no money, not till I earn it.” “But listen, Paul, my Dad’s got a lot of money, and he gives me what I ask him for. He’s come here to lease this block from your aunt, and he won’t miss this little bit.” “No, sir, I ain’t a-goin’ to turn into no bum; I didn’t run away for that. You think ’cause I took some food out of my aunt’s pantry—” “No, I don’t think that at all! And you can call this a loan, if you want to.” “You put up your money,” said the other, with a note of harshness in his voice. “I ain’t a-goin’ to call no loans, and you done enough for me already; so forget it.” “Well, but Paul—” “Do what I say, now!” “But then, you’ll come to the hotel tomorrow and have lunch with me?” “No, I can’t come to no hotel, I don’t look decent.” “But that don’t matter, Paul.” “Sure it matters! Your Dad’s a rich man, and he wouldn’t want no ranch-boy at his hotel.” “Dad wouldn’t care—honest, he wouldn’t! He says I don’t know enough boys, I stay by myself and read too much.” “Yes, but he don’t want no boys like me.” “He says I’ve got to work, Paul—honest, you don’t know Dad. He’d like to have you come; he’d like us to be friends.” There was a pause, while Paul weighed this proposition, and Bunny waited, as anxiously as if it were the sentence of a court. He liked this boy! He had never met any boy he liked so much as this one! And did the boy like him?