"What business is it of yours, I'd like to know? Why don't you go back in the other room?" Gerald grumbled, making rather lively motions around three sides of the wood-box, as he tried to keep his back toward Billy.
"Aw, pig!" sniffed Billy, "eating your orange out here where nobody'd see you, so you wouldn't have to divide. Orange juice running all down your arm, and I'm glad of it, pig!"
"Got an orange of your own," was Gerald's retort.
"Haven't either," declared Billy.
"Then you've eaten it up, and now who's a pig, I'd like to know? I offered to divide my orange with Selma, but she was in a hustle to get her dishes washed and get down-town, and it isn't my fault if she couldn't wait for me to get it peeled. You're the pig, Billy, because you didn't even offer to divide with anybody."
"No, I gave my whole orange to Antoine before I even stopped to smell of it," wailed Billy, "and I guess if I had a little brother that hadn't had a smell of orange, I'd give him a piece."
Gerald whistled. "Who ever'd think you'd do such a thing, Billy? Here, little boy, is your reward of merit," and Gerald, thrusting half his orange into Billy's outstretched hand, walked away, whistling.
Half an orange made Billy wish for more. It was a sweet one and juicy. He wondered if Betty's orange was anywhere near as good. Later in the evening Gerald went out on the beach with his father to see if there were any boats in sight to be reported. While he was gone, Betty prepared to eat her orange.