barren calf lot that Johnny used for a flying field.

Johnny began to have premonitory qualms of a sympathy which he knew was
undeserved. Bland Halliday had got a square deal--more than a square
deal; for Sudden, Johnny knew, had paid him generously for repairing
the plane while Johnny was sick. Bland had undoubtedly squandered the
money in one long debauch, and there was no doubt in Johnny's mind of
Bland's reason for missing his train. He was a bum by nature and he
would double-cross his own mother, Johnny firmly believed. Yet, there
was Johnny's boyish sympathy that never failed sundry stray dogs and
cats that came in his way. It impelled him now to befriend Bland
Halliday.

"Well, since the cat's come back, I suppose it must have its saucer of
milk," he grinned, by way of hiding the fact that the lip-quiver had
touched him. "I haven't taken any nourishment myself for quite some
time. Come on and eat."

He started back toward town, and Bland Halliday followed him like a
lonesome pup.

On the way, Johnny took stock of Bland in little quick glances from the
corner of his eyes. Bland had been shabby when Johnny discovered him
one day on the depot platform of a tiny town farther down the line. He
had been shabbier after three weeks in Johnny's camp, working on the
airplane in hope of a free trip to the Coast. But his shabbiness now
surpassed anything Johnny had known, because Bland had evidently made
pitiful attempts to hide it. That, Johnny guessed, was because of the
hussy Bland had mentioned.