“First of all,” began Dora, “there’s Pete.”
“Oh, yes, I know Pete all right,” said Clarence, passing his hand over his mouth and rubbing his upper lip. “And I want to say right now that I’m not stuck on Pete.”
“He’s not—he’s not—” Dora paused and considered. “Well, he’s not real nice.”
“Nobody would say he was.”
“And he’s the leader of this band.”
“Gypsies, eh?”
“Yes, gypsies. It isn’t a regular band you know. It’s only a piece of one.”
“It’s a big enough one for me,” Clarence observed with emphasis.
“You see, Pete got into some trouble last spring in Ohio. He made some kind of a horse-trade and was sentenced to the workhouse for a month. He’d have been there longer, only Ben was sent down to wait for him and help him pay off his fine. And that’s how I came to be here.”
“What have you got to do with paying off Pete’s fine? What have you got to do with the workhouse?” asked Clarence indignantly.