"That 's why I learned to read. That 's why I ran away. Nicky Perrata, a Greek boy, taught me my letters, and it was n't till after I learned to read that I found out there was anything really wrong in bay-pirating. I 'd been used to it ever since I could remember, and almost all the people I knew made their living that way. But when I did find out, I ran away, thinking to quit it for good. I 'll tell you about it sometime, and how I 'm back at it again. "Of course she seemed a real girl when I was a youngster, and even now she sometimes seems that way, I 've thought so much about her. But while I 'm talking to you it all clears up and she comes to me in this light: she stands just for a plain idea, a better, cleaner life than this, and one I 'd like to live; and if I could live it, why, I 'd come to know that kind of girls, and their kind of people--your kind, that 's what I mean. So I was wondering about your sister and you, and that 's why--I don't know; I guess I was just wondering. But I suppose you know lots of girls like that, don't you?" Joe nodded his head. "Then tell me about them--something, anything," he added as he noted the fleeting expression of doubt in the other's eyes. "Oh, that 's easy," Joe began valiantly. To a certain extent he did understand the lad's hunger, and it seemed a simple enough task to at least partially satisfy him. "To begin with, they 're like--hem!--why, they 're like--girls, just girls." He broke off with a miserable sense of failure. 'Frisco Kid waited patiently, his face a study in expectancy. Joe struggled valiantly to marshal his forces. To his mind, in quick succession, came the girls with whom he had gone to school--the sisters of the boys he knew, and those who were his sister's friends: slim girls and plump girls, tall girls and short girls, blue-eyed and brown-eyed, curly-haired, black-haired, golden-haired; in short, a procession of girls of all sorts and descriptions. But, to save himself, he could say nothing about them. Anyway, he 'd never been a "sissy," and why should he be expected to know anything about them? "All girls are alike," he concluded desperately. "They 're just the same as the ones you know, Kid--sure they are." "But I don't know any." Joe whistled. "And never did?" "Yes, one. Carlotta Gispardi. But she could n't speak English, and I could n't speak Dago; and she died. I don't care; though I never knew any, I seem to know as much about them as you do." "And I guess I know more about adventures all over the world than you do," Joe retorted.