Rock did act fine, and not a bit like he had anything on his mind. He just sort of wandered around, but every little bit he managed to get nearer to the arbor. Then he stooped and picked up a stone out of the driveway in front of the house and chucked it at the arbor. Like anybody would, he stopped to see where the stone hit, and then he walked over there slow and poked around the arbor like he was sort of curious to see how it was built.
“Come on,” says Mark, and we snaked it on our stummicks till we was right back of the arbor. I poked my head through, and then wiggled through myself. It wasn’t so easy for Mark, because a hole that would do for me wouldn’t be big enough for one of his legs, but he made it at last, considerable scratched and het up. Then he whistled soft.
In a minute Rock came mooching in, but he didn’t come right in. He stopped in the door and looked at it. It wasn’t a door, but just a sort of open arch, and he shook the side to see if it was strong, and turned around and looked all over the yard. Then he moved back in as slow as molasses, until he figgered it was safe to quit acting and look us over.
“Hello!” says he.
“I’m Mark Tidd,” says Mark, “and this is Binney Jenks.”
Rock didn’t say anything, but just eyed Mark steady, and then me; finally he stuck out his hand and says, “I like your looks.”
“Fine,” says Mark, “then everybody’s satisfied. I kind of like my looks myself. There’s enough of ’em.” Mark would joke about his being fat himself, but if anybody else went to trying it they wanted to look out. “There’s this about us,” says Mark, “we may not be able to do you any good, but it’s s-s-sure we can’t do you any harm.”
“Whether you do me good or harm,” says Rock, “I’m goin’ to tie to you. Just,” says he, “for the sake of bein’ able to say to myself that I’ve got some friends.”
“Bully for you,” says Mark. “Now l-let’s get to business. What’s your whole name?”
“Roscoe Beaumont,” says he.