"'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. Mrs. Wart, on the back seat, shuffled her feet and hemmed in vain. Jane pulled away at the dock and mullein, in one of her old fits of silent musing. "Says I, 'See my ducks an' sack, Mr. Starke? Latest cut,' says I. 'Wish you knew my tailor. Man of enterprise, an' science, Sir. Knows mechanics, an' acoustics, an' the rest,--at his finger-ends,--well as his needle,' said I. "The old chap's watery eyes began to open at that. "'Heard of yer engine, by George!' I goes on. "'What's he think of the chances?' he says. 'Hes _he_ influence?' "'No,--but he's pants an' sech, which is more to the purpose,' I says. 'An' without a decent suit to yer back, how kin you carry the thing before Congress?' says I. Put it to him strong, that way. 'How kin ye?' I says. 'Now look here, Mr. Starke. Ye 'r' no runner in debt, I know: not willin' to let other people fill yer stomach an' cover yer back, because you've got genius into ye, which they haven't. All right!' says I. 'American pluck. But ye see, facts is facts, an' yer coat, not to mince matters, is nothin' but rags. An' yer shirt'-- "His old wizened phiz got quite red at that, an' he caught his breath a minute. "'Go on, Andrew,' says he, puttin' his hand on my arm, 'you mean well. _I_ don't mind it. Indeed, no.' Smilin' kind, to let me see as he wasn't hurt. However, I dropped the shirt.