“Oh, well,” said Kit, “I don’t know if one is justified to rob the rich, but one ought not to rob the poor. Anyhow, in the old romantic days it was supposed to be the rule. Now perhaps it’s out of date; but since I’m starting off with my fiddle like the ancient minstrels, I must play up. Well, you remarked my bluffing the steward, and the motto is: When you undertake an adventure, you mustn’t hesitate!” They were opposite a light, and Alison gave him a grateful look.
“Ah,” she said, “my hesitation’s gone! You gave me back the pluck I lost. But we have stayed for some time, and you said I would sing again.”
CHAPTER IX
THE ROAD TO THE WEST
Dust rolled about the jolting cars and sifted through every opening. Cinders rattled on the roofs and the long train noisily followed the river. Although the afternoon was hot, a stove burned in the compartment at the back of the Colonist car, and Alison waited for a tin kettle to boil. Kit leaned against the partition and entertained two children by pulling a bootlace through a knot.
“Why, that’s just too cute!” one exclaimed, and seized Kit’s hand. “You held on to both ends, but you pulled another through the loop. How’d you fix it?”
“Ah,” said Kit, “there’s the puzzle! You see, a bootlace only has two ends.”
The other child laughed. “A bootlace? Don’t you know it’s a shoe-string?”
“I forgot,” said Kit. “I reckon sometimes it’s a shoe-tie. When you come to think about it, the proper name’s important. People go by names——”
“You talk queer. Say, where was you raised?”
“A conjurer’s habit is to talk. When you want folks to think a thing is something it is not, high-faluting language helps. Magicians, politicians and company floaters know the trick. However, if you fix your eye on the shoe-string, I expect you’ll see it’s got four ends.”