“No, you must tell first, ’cause you’re company,” replied Gyp, with an uncomfortable regard for the etiquette of the occasion.
“Hm!” sighed Leon. “Let me see, what shall I tell you about? Do you know old Jerry, Gyp?”
“Who’s he?”
“The old, old man with long, white hair that comes around here, sometimes, to see if we’ll give him something to eat or some clothes.”
“Yes,” nodded Gyp. “I know him. What about him.”
“I was going to tell you how I went to see him once,” said Leon, moving to make more room for the child. “It was about two weeks ago, and Max and Jack and I started off, one Saturday, to go to his house. He lives way up beyond the village, in the woods. His house is a queer little bit of a one, made out of rough boards, with a piece of stove-pipe for a chimney, and a little narrow door, painted blue.”
“What’s that for?” inquired Gyp.
“Why, to go in at,” said Leon, rather surprised at the question.
“No; I mean what for did he paint it blue?” persisted Gyp.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Leon, with the certainty that he was about to lose favor in Gyp’s eyes, because of his lack of accurate information upon this point.