“The Yocum place,” said Mr. Mitchell. “I hear the old gentleman's mighty prosperous these days. They keep things up to the mark, don't they, Ramsey?”
“I don't know whether they do or whether they don't,” Ramsey returned shortly.
Fred appeared to muse regretfully. “It looks kind of empty now, though,” he said, “with only Mr. and Mrs. Yocum and their three married daughters, and eight or nine children on the front porch!”
“You wait till I get you where they can't see us!” Ramsey warned him, fiercely.
“You can't do it!” said Fred, manifesting triumph. “We'll both stop right here in plain sight of the whole Yocum family connection till you promise not to touch me.”
And he halted, leaning back implacably against the Yocum's iron fence. Ramsey was scandalized.
“Come on!” he said, hoarsely. “Don't stop here!”
“I will, and if you go on alone I'll yell at you. You got to stand right here with all of 'em lookin' at you until—”
“I promise! My heavens, come on!”
Fred consented to end the moment of agony; and for the rest of the summer found it impossible to persuade Ramsey to pass that house in his company. “I won't do it!” Ramsey told him. “Your word of honour means nothin' to me; you're liable to do anything that comes into your head, and I'm gettin' old enough to not get a reputation for bein' seen with people that act the idiot on the public streets. No, sir; we'll walk around the block—at least, we will if you're goin' with me!”