Swallows looped and dipped around Judge Chater's tipsy cupola.
"You know something, Jule?" Joe Felder said. "I bet you'd never dare spend a night in one of these old dumps. Judge Chater's house, for instance."
"I bet I would."
"I bet you wouldn't."
"I bet I would," but then Julian, who was a fairly honest boy, felt compelled to add: "Not alone, though. With somebody. You, maybe. How about it? I dare you!"
It was a bright, lively afternoon. Foster and Davey could be heard sparrow-chirping on their island, and Mr. Payton, distantly, could be heard whistling in his garden. To the left, there was the scatterbrained conversation of hens and a sound of feminine voices as Mrs. Cheever and the girls came out of her house to go berrying.
The world was a safe place. Anyone could see that it was safe.
"O.K.," Joe said. "You say when."
"You too, Tom?"
"Well, I guess so." Tom agreed, but not with alacrity.