She slammed the door in Peter's face, and Peter turned away. The fence was high but Peter was agile, and he scrambled up and managed to throw one leg over, and thus reached the top.
“Come on in,” Booge's gruff voice greeted him, and Peter looked down to see the tramp immediately below him.
“They got Buddy,” said Peter, as he dropped to the ground inside the fence.
“Did, hey?” said Booge, stretching his arms. “I was sort of in hopes you'd kill that old kazoozer, if you had to. I don't like him. He's the feller that married me and Lize, and I ain't ever forgive him. One Merdin was enough in a town. I was all of that name the world ought to have had in it—”
“Merdin?” said Peter. “Is that your name?”
“Why, sure, it is. Didn't I ever tell you?” asked Booge. “No, I guess I didn't. Come to think of it, it wasn't important what you called me, and Buddy sort of clung to 'Booge.' Where is the little feller?”
“Your name's Merdin? And your wife was Lize Merdin?” repeated Peter, staring at the tramp. “Is that so?”
“Cross my heart. If you want me to, I'll sing it for you.”
“Booge,” said Peter soberly, “she's dead. Your wife is dead.”
The tramp was serious now. “Lize is dead?” he asked. “Honest, Peter?”