The man grinned. "Good-by, Doc," he said. "I'll call you when I git the
measles. You're a good feller. If you'd been a benefactor I'd run you
out."

The man clattered down the steps of the gaudily painted little
structure. The girl whom he had called Mame turned and looked at James
with a sort of innocent boldness. "He's a queer feller," she observed.

"He seems to be."

"He is, you bet. Livin' in a house he's built out of boxes when he makes
big money. He's on strike every little while. I wouldn't look at him.
Don't know what he's drivin' at half the time. Reckon he's--" She
touched her head significantly.

"Lots of folks are," said James affably.

"That's so." She stared reflectively at James. "I'm keepin' this quick
lunch 'cause my father's sick," said she. "I see a lot of human nature
in here."

"I suppose you do."

"You bet. Every kind gits in here first and last, tramps up to swells
who think they're doin' somethin' awful funny to git frankfurters and
coffee in here. They must be hard driv."

"I suppose they are sometimes."

Mame's eyes, surveying James, suddenly grew sharp. "You ain't one?" she