“I tell you, Miss Kitty,” he burst forth, a few minutes after being introduced, “they ain’t no use talkin’, N’ Yawk ‘ll give you a shakin’ up ’at you won’t soon forget.  It ’s the only town on the face of the earth.  You kin bet your life they ain’t no flies on N’ Yawk.  We git the best shows here, we git the best concerts—­say, now, what ‘s the use o’ my callin’ it all out?—­we simply git the best of everything.”

“Great place,” said Joe wisely, in what he thought was going to be quite a man-of-the-world manner.  But he burned with shame the next minute because his voice sounded so weak and youthful.  Then too the oracle only said “Yes” to him, and went on expatiating to Kitty on the glories of the metropolis.

“D’jever see the statue o’ Liberty?  Great thing, the statue o’ Liberty.  I ’ll take you ‘round some day.  An’ Cooney Island—­oh, my, now that ’s the place; and talk about fun!  That ’s the place for me.”

“La, Thomas,” Mrs. Jones put in, “how you do run on!  Why, the strangers ’ll think they ’ll be talked to death before they have time to breathe.”

“Oh, I guess the folks understan’ me.  I ‘m one o’ them kin’ o’ men ’at believe in whooping things up right from the beginning.  I ’m never strange with anybody.  I ‘m a N’ Yawker, I tell you, from the word go.  I say, Mis’ Jones, let ‘s have some beer, an’ we ’ll have some music purty soon.  There ’s a fellah in the house ’at plays ‘Rag-time’ out o’ sight.”

Mr. Thomas took the pail and went to the corner.  As he left the room, Mrs. Jones slapped her knee and laughed until her bust shook like jelly.

“Mr. Thomas is a case, sho’,” she said; “but he likes you all, an’ I ’m mighty glad of it, fu’ he ’s mighty curious about the house when he don’t like the roomers.”

Joe felt distinctly flattered, for he found their new acquaintance charming.  His mother was still a little doubtful, and Kitty was sure she found the young man “fresh.”

He came in pretty soon with his beer, and a half-dozen crabs in a bag.

“Thought I ’d bring home something to chew.  I always like to eat something with my beer.”

Mrs. Jones brought in the glasses, and the young man filled one and turned to Kitty.

“No, thanks,” she said with a surprised look.

“What, don’t you drink beer?  Oh, come now, you ‘ll get out o’ that.”

“Kitty don’t drink no beer,” broke in her mother with mild resentment.  “I drinks it sometimes, but she don’t.  I reckon maybe de chillen better go to bed.”

Joe felt as if the “chillen” had ruined all his hopes, but Kitty rose.

The ingratiating “N’ Yawker” was aghast.

“Oh, let ’em stay,” said Mrs. Jones heartily; “a little beer ain’t goin’ to hurt ’em.  Why, sakes, I know my father gave me beer from the time I could drink it, and I knows I ain’t none the worse fu’ it.”

“They ‘ll git out o’ that, all right, if they live in N’ Yawk,” said Mr. Thomas, as he poured out a glass and handed it to Joe.  “You neither?”