"Do you reckon you could?" he debated, trotting along by the
irresponsive Jilton boy.
"Run home to your mother," growled the originator of the plan,
savagely. "You ain't old enough to call on girls; anybody can see
that; but I am, and I'm going to call on Champe Claiborne."
Again the name acted as a spur on Ross. "With your collar and boots
all dirty?" he jeered. "They won't know you're callin'."
The boy in the road stopped short in his dusty tracks. He was an
intense creature, and he whitened at the tragic insinuation, longing
for the wholesome stay and companionship of freckle-faced Ross. "I put
the dirt on o' purpose so's to look kind of careless," he half
whispered, in an agony of doubt. "S'pose I'd better go into your house
and try to wash it off? Reckon your mother would let me?"
"I've got two clean collars," announced the other boy, proudly
generous. "I'll lend you one. You can put it on while I'm getting
ready. I'll tell mother that we're just stepping out to do a little
calling on the girls."
Here was an ally worthy of the cause. Abner welcomed him, in spite of
certain jealous twinges.
Pages:
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455