"Try to guess," suggested the man pleasantly and the other laughed.
"I can't guess," said the Watermelon. "Is it for riding through the cow lane? We didn't hurt the lane any. I rode through this same lane last summer and the Browns didn't kick up any row over it. In fact, they were with me, that is, Dick and Lizzie were."
The man stared and the Watermelon frowned coldly.
"Do you know the Browns?" demanded the fellow.
"Not very well," admitted the Watermelon. "I was through here last summer and stopped over night at their place. They were fine people, all right. They told me if I ever came this way again to drop in and I said I would. It was a sort of joke. They gave me a latch-key." He drew a key from his pocket and held it out as proof of his integrity.
"Huh," said the man dully, gazing from the key to the Watermelon.
The second man took it. "Which door does it fit?" he asked.
"The front door," said the Watermelon promptly. "Go try it if you want proof."
"Not so fast," said the second man, who had taken the affair into his own hands. "If you know the Browns, tell me something about them? No, you chuffer feller, hold on, back there. Don't try to slip by, for you can't. You automobilists think that the Lord created Heaven and earth for your benefit and then rested on the seventh day and has been resting ever since. That's better. Now, then—" turning again to the Watermelon—"how many in the family?"
"How many?" queried the Watermelon. "I don't know. I only saw Ma and Pa and the three kids, Dick and Lizzie and Sarah. Sarah was a young lady about twenty, if I remember rightly; Lizzie was eight and Dick was a bit older, ten or twelve—twelve, I think he said. I remember his birthday came in January, anyway."