Honest, Penrod, I thought you was after me! I did think so," he added sunnily; "but now I guess you like me, or else you wouldn't of stuck to it about lettin' me drink it all if I kept on swallering." He chatted on with complete geniality, smoking his cigarette in content.
And as he ran from one topic to another his hearers stared at him in a kind of torpor.

Never once did they exchange a glance with each other; their eyes were frozen to Maurice.

The cheerful conversationalist made it evident that he was not without gratitude.
"Well," he said as he finished his cigarette and rose to go, "you fellers have treated me nice and some day you come over to my yard; I'd like to run with you fellers.

You're the kind of fellers I like." Penrod's jaw fell; Sam's mouth had been open all the time.

Neither spoke.
"I gotta go," observed Maurice, consulting a handsome watch.