"Now, son, you sit down on the end of your bed and take it easy. I'm
an old hand at this game and before we've had our week together I'm
banking on you being glad to help me. But to-day you've had enough."
"Thanks," mumbled Nucky, as he eagerly followed the guide's suggestions.
The early supper tasted delicious to the boy although every muscle in
his body ached. Bacon and flap jacks, coffee and canned peaches he
devoured with more appetite than he ever had brought to ministrone and
red wine. A queer and inexplicable sense of comfort and a desire to
talk came over him after the meal was finished, the camp in order, and
the fire replenished.
"This ain't so bad," he said. "I wish some of the guys that used to
come to Luigi's could see me now."
"And who was Luigi?" asked Frank, lighting his pipe and stretching
himself on a blanket before the fire.
"He was the guy I lived with after my mother died. He ran a gambling
joint, and we was fixing the place up for women, too, when we all got
pinched." This very boastfully.
"Who were your folks, Enoch?"
"Never heard of none of 'em. Luigi's a Dago. He wouldn't have been so
bad if he didn't pinch the pennies so. Were you ever in New York,
Frank?" This in a patronizing voice.
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