Short Stories
Inspector."
He looked sharply at the boys as he passed along. Sometimes
he stopped and asked questions. When he did so, he was com-
pelled to shout at the top of his lungs, at which moments his face
was ludicrously contorted with the strain of making himself
heard. His quick eye noted the empty machine alongside of
Johnny's, but he said nothing. Johnny also caught his eye, and he
stopped abruptly. He caught Johnny by the arm to draw him
back a step from the machine; but with an exclamation of sur-
prise he released the arm.
"Pretty skinny," the superintendent laughed anxiously.
"Pipe stems," was the answer. "Look at those legs. The boy's
got the rickets—incipient, but he's got them. If epilepsy doesn't
get him in the end, it will be because tuberculosis gets him first."
Johnny listened, but did not understand. Furthermore he was
not interested in future ills. There was an immediate and more
serious ill that threatened him in the form of the inspector.
"Now, my boy, I want you to tell me the truth," the inspector
said, or shouted, bending close to the boy's ear to make him
hear. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen," Johnny lied, and he lied with the full force of his
lungs. So loudly did he lie that it started him off in a dry, hack-
ing cough that lifted the lint which had been settling in his lungs
all morning.
"Looks sixteen at least," said the superintendent.
"Or sixty," snapped the inspector.
"He's always looked that way."
26