"You came near spoiling the appitite of that young man over at the
opposite table."

"I'd like to spoil his beauty. He feels too big. I don't like to see
a feller put on so many airs. What's the matter of me, I'd like to
know?"

"Why, you see, Tom, your face isn't very clean. There are spots of
blacking on it."

"A feller can't be always washin' his face. I'll wash it to-morrow
mornin' at the lodge. Does it take away your appetite, too?"

"Not a bit," said Ben, laughing. "Nothing but a good dinner will
take away that."

"You're the kind of feller I like," said Tom emphatically. "You
don't put on no airs."

"I can't afford to," said Ben. "I'm a poor boy myself."

"I wouldn't feel poor if I had fifty dollars," returned Tom.

"I hope you'll have it sometime, and a good deal more."

"So do I. When I'm a rich man, I'll wash my face oftener."

"And put blacking on your boots instead of your face," added Ben.