set the hat forward, descended the steps,
and held out a friendly left hand to Johnnie.

"Come on, sonny," he coaxed. "Ain't it eatin' time? Let's go and
pur-_chase_ some grub."

Johnnie, for all that he had been practically a recluse these past
several years, had, nevertheless, the metropolite's inborn indifference
to the passerby. He had scarcely noticed the steadily increasing group
before the steps. Now he ignored them all. He was hungry. That
invitation to partake of food was welcome.

He advanced and held out a hand. The one-eyed man grasped it, descended
the last step or two, pushed his way through the crowd without looking
to right or left, and led Johnnie down the street at such a pace that
the bare feet were put to the trot--which was not too fast, seeing that
supper lay somewhere ahead.

Johnnie felt proud and flattered. He made up his mind to be seen talking
to his tall companion as they fared along. "Guess you're not a
longshoreman," he said, to begin the conversation.

"Me?" drawled the other; then, mysteriously, "Wal, sonny, I'll tell y':
if I am, I ain't never yet found it out!"

Then silence for half a block. Johnnie studied his next remark. The
direct way was the most natural to him. He tried another query.
"And--and what do y' do?" he asked.

"Do?"--this stranger seemed to have Grandpa's habit of repeating the
last word. "Oh, I val-lay a hoss."

Johnnie was no wiser than before, but he felt it good manners to appear
enlightened. "You--you do that back there?" he ventured next.

"Yeppie. In the Garden."

Now Johnnie was hopelessly lost. Val-lay meant nothing, hoss even less;
as for a garden, he vaguely understood what that was: a place where
beans grew, and potatoes; yes, and wizen-faced prunes. But though he had
circled about the neighborhood considerably since leaving the bookstore,
he had caught no glimpse of any garden--except that one belonging to
Aladdin. Ah, that was it! This strange man's garden was down a flight of
steps!

"Do you grow cabbages in your garden?" he asked, "or--or diamonds?"

"How's that?" demanded the other; then as if he had recovered from a
momentary surprise, "Oh, a little of both."

"Both!"

"But--but this ain't what you'd call a good year for diamonds. Nope. Too
many cutworms."

Johnnie wanted to ask if all gardeners wore hairy trousers. Then
thought of a subject even more interesting. "Mister,"--he put a note of
genuine sympathy into his voice--"how'd