“S-s-sorry, n-n-nothing!” stammers Mr. Turner. “You’ll b-b-be t-t-telling this all over t-t-town...!”
“Sure they will,” says Ronnie. “It’s too good to keep.”
Mr. Turner glares furiously. “W-w-when I w-w-want your opinion, son, I’ll ask f-for it!” he returns.
Have you ever been so nervous that you can’t keep your face straight even when you’re scared? That’s the way we feel and we commence to snicker again, one fellow starting off the others. It’s some comical sight, Mr. Turner, shaking like a wet rag on a clothesline.
“I’ve g-g-got to be g-g-getting to the h-h-house,” he says. “B-b-boys, p-p-please d-d-don’t s-s-say anything about this! K-k-keep m-m-mum!”
It’s so funny to hear Mr. Turner trying to talk that Mack laughs right out.
“Maybe,” suggests Ronnie, taking his father’s arm, “if you’d let the boys use the hill...?”
“Yes!” takes up Mr. Turner, giving us an appealing glance. “If I’ll l-l-let you use this h-h-hill for a s-s-slide, w-w-will you b-b-boys keep this quiet?”
We look at one another and are we happy? There’s a nodding of heads and I says: “That’s a bargain, Mr. Turner! Nobody hears about this if we can play on the hill!”
“M-m-my w-w-word is my b-b-bond,” says Ronnie’s Dad. “C-c-come on, Ronald, b-b-before I s-s-suffer from exposure!”