Two hours later, when Connie came out from supper to hasten to the usual “talk gathering” in Art’s front yard, he found Nick Apthorp sitting on the curb in front of his home.
“Kind o’ out o’ your bailiwick, ain’t you, Nick?” exclaimed Connie with a smile.
“Say,” replied Nick ignoring the banter, “you got any more o’ them books? Hank hung onto the one you give him. It’s full o’ pictures. I wish’t I could get one.”
“Mebbe Art Trevor’ll let you take his,” suggested Connie. “I got to get another one myself.”
“I don’t want no favors o’ that guy,” responded Nick. “Can’t you get me one? How much do they cost?”
“Twenty-five cents,” explained Connie. “I’m goin’ to send for another. I’ll get you one if you like.”
“Well, you do it,” replied Nick. “Here’s a quarter ’at I got fur passin’ soap samples. But I wish’t you wouldn’t say nothin’ ’bout it—not to my gang nor to yours neither. Hank thinks he’s the whole cheese. I’ll show him.”
“Sure,” said Connie taking the money. “I’ll—”
“When you guys goin’ campin’?” interrupted Nick as if that was his only interest in seeing Connie.
“We ain’t goin’ campin’ right away,” responded Connie innocently. “Saturday we’re goin’ to hike to Round Rock an’ cook our breakfast at the cave. Then we’re goin’ to go up the river to Borden’s Ford—that’s ’bout four miles. There’s good bass fishin’ at the ford. We’re goin’ to cook dinner there an’ fish awhile. An’ then we’re goin’ up to the old quarry an’ loaf ’round till they bring the automobile for us.”