“That’s jest what I thought. Tom was sayin’ his Hamlick.”
“Saying what?”
“His Hamlick. Don’ ye know what that is? Hamlick’s a dialogue or a play. I don’ know who writ it, but Tom does. The young folks over to the Corners is goin’ to give a exhibition, and Hamlick’s the one they decided on. Tom is to be Hamlick, and he was jest a-practisin’ his piece.”
For a moment the boys gazed blankly at one another, and then all but Bob rushed from the dock as if they too had been stricken by the same evil disease which they feared had seized upon Tom.
Bob, however, remained with Ethan, and with his face as expressionless as he could make it at times, inquired soberly,—
“When is this play going to be given, Ethan?”
“Oh, I don’ know. Some time this summer, I suppose. They ’most always give somethin’ while the summer boarders is here, and this year the walks needed fixin’ up in the Corners some, so they—I mean the young folks, o’ course—decided to give Hamlick; and Tom he’s to be the Hamlick in chief. Ever hear that dialogue down to your place?”
“Yes, I believe I have. I’ve heard of it, anyway.”
“I thought likely. Pretty good thing, isn’t it?”