Then a step sounded behind me, a hand touched my shoulder, so that my heart jumped like a startled frog, and Radley said:
"Come and have a talk with me a minute."
§4
My mother had written, but not to her son. The postman, who disappointed me, brought a graceful note to Radley:
"I am most sorry for this trespass upon your time, and yet I have little hesitation in asking your help in a matter that concerns my son. Rupert, in his talks during the holidays, so often mentions your name, that it is not difficult to see that he owes you a good deal. Although he is too reserved to say so, I fancy he is quite devoted to you. His postcard, which I enclose, will explain all.
"May I take this opportunity of expressing my thanks, and of saying how grateful his father would have been for all that you are doing for our son?"
Radley, when we reached the privacy of his room, took up his favourite position of sitting on the edge of the table. Before him stood I, all reasoning suspended.
"Well, how's the cheating going on?" he asked.
"What ch—?"
"Stop! Don't say 'What cheating?' because that would be acting a lie. I tell you what we'll do. We'll wait a whole minute before you answer me. We'll collect our thoughts and think whether we'll act straightly or crookedly." He took his watch off his chain and placed it upon the table beside him. "Right, we're off."