”You ’re from the city, aren’t you?”
“What city?”
“New York.”
Barney looked down at his feet, kicked at a tuft of grass in the path, and did not reply.
“What are you doing away out here?”
“Answerin’ questions.”
The man laughed. “What ’s the matter? Have you run away from home?”
“That ’s all right,” Barney said. “I can take care o’ myself. If you ’ll gi’ me a glass o’ milk er somethin’, I ’ll call it square.”
“There ’s a town just over the hill. Got any money?”
“Sure. I ’m a millionaire. I ’ll split some wood fer you, if you ’ll gi’ me some bread and butter.”
“All the wood ’s split.” He went down into his pocket and drew out a quarter.
Barney took it, ungraciously. “What ’s the matter? Runnin’ some sort o’ joint in here?”
“What do you mean?”
