"I'll do--whatever you tell me," he said, in a low voice. "No one has
ever been so--decent to me before."
"Have one of those rolls!" said Saltash practically. "You'll talk better
with something inside you."
He seated himself on the edge of his bunk and lit another cigarette, his
attitude one of royal indifference, but his odd eyes flashing to and fro
with a monkey-like shrewdness that missed nothing of his desolate
companion's forlorn state.
"You've been doing this starvation business for some time, haven't you?"
he asked presently. "No wonder you didn't feel like work."
The boy's pinched face smiled, a small wistful smile. "I can work," he
said. "I can do anything--women's work as well as men's. I can cook and
clean boots and knives and sew on buttons and iron trousers and wash
shirts and wait on tables and make beds and sweep and--"
"For heaven's sake, stop!" said Saltash. "You make me giddy. Tell me the
things you can't do instead! It would take less time."
Toby considered for a few moments. "I can't drive cars," he said at
length. "But I can clean 'em, and I'd love to learn."
Saltash laughed. "That's the sole exception, is it? You seem to have
picked up a good deal in a short time.
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