“He is a naturally dishonest man. Watch him closely and you will learn what happened to the turkeys.”
“Thanks a lot, old man—gee, Uncle Norman will be no end obliged to you, and gosh, he is already, for that bog you drained is still dry—”
“It will remain dry—” the boy assured him.
“Maybe we’d better be starting,” Jim suggested, “that is, if you are in a hurry to get to New York.”
“We shall be glad to hurry.”
“I say,” Jim put in, “You know, maybe I’m a nut, but if you people, I mean you and your uncle, would kind of act like ordinary people, not wear anything that looks a bit different, or act as if you are trying to keep out of sight, you wouldn’t attract attention—nobody would pay any attention to you at all, except maybe in a little place like North Hero, where everybody knows everybody else,” he finished hurriedly. The boy sat thoughtfully for a moment, then he smiled and held out his hand.
“Thank you, it is excellent advice.”
“When you are by yourselves you can act naturally, I mean as you do anyway, but you look as if you are different, you seem to know more—”
“Thank you, we will do that, and I hope we meet again, Jim Austin and Bob Caldwell.”
“If you come to Texas, look us up. This is where we live.” He gave the boy a card, with the address scrawled on the back.