He supposed it was because Naseby had sold papers, and wore shoes, and
went to night school, and did many other things equally objectionable.
Still, what Naseby had said about the country, and riding horseback,
and the fishing, and the shooting crows with no cops to stop you, and
watermelons for nothing, had sounded wonderfully attractive and quite
improbable, except that it was one of Naseby's peculiarly sneaking
ways to tell the truth. Anyway, Naseby had left Cherry Street for
good, and had gone back to the country to work there. This all helped
to make Snipes morose, and it was with a cynical smile of satisfaction
that he watched an old countryman coming slowly up the street, and
asking his way timidly of the Italians to Case's tenement.
The countryman looked up and about him in evident bewilderment and
anxiety. He glanced hesitatingly across at the boy leaning against the
wall of a saloon, but the boy was watching two sparrows fighting in
the dirt of the street, and did not see him. At least, it did not look
as if he saw him. Then the old man knocked on the door of Case's
tenement. No one came, for the people in the house had learned to
leave inquiring countrymen to the gentleman who rented room No.
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