Bill passed straight through the store and set out across the town dumps. And it would have been impossible to guess how far he was affected by Minky's plaint. His face might have been a stone wall for all expression it had of what was passing behind it. His cold eyes were fixed upon the hut ahead of him without apparent interest or meaning. His thoughts were his own at all times. As he drew near he heard Sunny's voice raised in song, and he listened intently, wondering the while if the loafer had any idea of its quality. It was harsh, nasal and possessed as much tune as a freshly sharpened "buzz-saw." But his words were distinct. Far too distinct Bill thought with some irritation. "A farmer ast the other day if we wanted work. Sez we, 'Ol' man, the labour?' Sez he, 'It's binding wheat.' Sez we, 'Ol' man, the figger?' 'A dollar an' a ha'f the sum.' Sez we, 'Ol' man, go an' tickle yerself, we'd a durned sight sooner bum!' 'Anythin' at all, marm, we're nearly starvin', Anything to hel-l-lp the bummers on their wa-ay, We are three bums an' jolly good chums, An' we live like Royal Turks, An' with good luck we bum our chuck, An' it's a fool of a man wot works.'" Just as Sunny was about to begin the next verse Bill appeared in the doorway, and the vocalist was reduced to a pained silence by his harsh criticism. "You'd orter be rootin' kebbeges on a hog ranch wi' that voice," he said icily. "You're sure the worst singer in America." Then he glanced round for the children. They were nowhere to be seen. Sunny was at the cookstove boiling milk in a tin "billy." His face was greasy with perspiration, and, even to Bill's accustomed eyes, he looked dirtier than ever. He stood now with a spoon poised, just as he had lifted it out of the pot at the moment of the other's entrance. "Where's the kids?" the latter demanded sharply. Sunny shifted his feet a little uneasily and glanced round the dirty room. The place looked as though it hadn't been cleaned for a month. There was a hideous accumulation of unwashed utensils scattered everywhere. The floor was unswept, let alone unwashed. And the smell of stale food and general mustiness helped to add to the keenness of the visitor's nervous edge as he waited for the man's reply. "Guess they're out on the dumps playin' at findin' gold," Sunny said, with a slightly forced laugh. "Y'see, little Vada's staked out a claim on a patch of elegant garbage, an' is digging fer worms. Them's the gold. An' Jamie's playin' 'bad man' an' swoopin' down on her and sneakin' her worms. It's a new game. Y'see, I thought it out and taught 'em how to play it. They're a heap struck on it, too. I--" But words somehow failed him under the baleful stare of the other's eyes. And turning back to the milk he fell into a stupid silence.