prodigious things. Furman had all but fallen dead when he surveyed what
that one pair of hands had accomplished. "And he bet me I couldn't take
up two barrels at a time," he boasted. Then pushing out his cheeks, "But
say! It was duck-soup!"

"Barrels of duck-soup?" One-Eye wanted to know. And the kitchen
resounded with such unwonted laughter that a window or two went up
outside, to right or left, some neighbor thinking a row was under way.

Hearing the noise, Barber stalked to his own window, flung it high,
leaned out, and glared about. The other windows went down then, and Big
Tom slammed his own shut, begrudging any family in the building the
sound of One-Eye's voice. "That Gamboni!" he growled. "Can't mind his
business t' save his life! But you bet he didn't open his mouth when he
seen me lookin'! No, sir! They all shut up their sass when they spy
yours truly! Ha-ha-a-a-a! I could break 'em in two!"

Johnnie felt a chill travel down his spine. He compared One-Eye to his
foster father again. Oh, what would have happened if these two had not
met on friendly terms? had on his account come to blows? How would it
have fared with the cowboy in the grasp of those hands which were
steel-constructed?

"Y' look consider'ble strong," admitted One-Eye, rolling the green
marble the length of Barber appraisingly. "But I ain't such a slouch
myself. Can throw my steer yet, slick as that!" Which was going far for
One-Eye in the boasting line.

He came to the flat often after that--and never again found Johnnie
away, though occasionally Big Tom was. He always brought cigars for the
longshoreman, and fruit or candy, or both, for the others. He never had
a great deal to say, but being something more than a common man, he
would dry dishes if there were dishes to dry, or help split kindling for
the morning fire; and once he scrubbed the sink.

If he said little, nevertheless he inspired others to talk. For some
reason he was anxious to get from Johnnie the story of the boy's past
life, which was not so complete as One-Eye would have liked, since
Johnnie had forgotten the surname of his Aunt Sophie. He remembered her
as a tall woman with big teeth and too much chin who wore plaid-gingham
wrappers and pinched his nose when she applied a handkerchief to him.

He remembered Aunt Sophie's living rooms above the rich man's
garage--rooms warm, clean, and brightly lighted, with pictures, and
crisp curtains, and a thick, rose-patterned rug