He looked what he was by nature; what he was by training,--a really skilful birdman,--did not show at all.
He begged a smoke from Johnny and slouched along, with an aimless garrulity talking of his hard luck, now curiously shot with hope.
Which irritated Johnny vaguely, since instinct told him whence that hope had sprung.

Still, sympathy made him kind to Bland just because Bland was so worthless and so miserable.
At a dingy, fly-infested place called "Red's Quick Lunch" whither Johnny, mindful of his low finances, piloted him, Bland ordered largely and complained because his "T bone" was too rare, and afterwards because it was tough.

Johnny dined on "coffee and sinkers" so that he could afford Bland's steak and "French fried" and hot biscuits and pie and two cups of coffee.

The cat, he told himself grimly, was not content with a saucer of milk.

It was on the top shelf of the pantry, lapping all the cream off the pan! Afterwards he took Bland to the hotel where his room was paid for until the end of the week, led him up there, produced an old suit of clothes that had not seemed to wear a sufficiently prosperous air for the owner of an airplane, and suggestively opened the door to the bathroom.
Bland took the clothes and went in, mumbling a fear that he would do himself mortal injury if he took a bath right after a meal.
"If you die, you'll die clean, anyway," Johnny told him grimly.