“That’s a jolly way to live!” said Gus. “It’s better than standing behind a counter all day, handling over goods for people who don’t want anything, and who, after they have tired you out, spend five cents for a spool of thread, and think they have paid you for the trouble they have caused you. But, Ned, we can’t get into any scrapes here, can we?”
“Can’t we, though!” exclaimed Ned. “I know a story worth two of that. Why, boy, I am in a worse scrape to-day than you ever dreamed of, and I got into it just as easy! It was no trouble at all.”
“You have been talking too much,” said Gus, who remembered that his friend had more than once got himself into serious trouble by the too free use of his tongue.
“No, I haven’t,” said Ned, quickly. “I have been talking too little; that’s the trouble. But it is a long story, and I must take a spare half hour in which to tell it to you; then I want you to give me your advice, for I don’t know what to do.”
“I guess I can help you, if anybody can. I have helped you out of more than one close corner, haven’t I? Do you remember how we used to go about Foxboro’ of nights, changing gates and signs, and stretching ropes across the walk to trip the people who passed by?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Are you up to such things now?”
“Yes, or anything else that has fun in it!”
“All right. Some day, when you are in just the right humor for it, I’ll tell you how you can get yourself into as lively a mess as you ever heard of—something that will set the whole settlement in a blaze.”
“I’m your man,” said Gus, readily. “If one is going to raise a row, let him raise a big one, while he is about it. That’s what I say!”
The five miles that lay between the swell and the rancho had never seemed so short to Ned as they did that day. He and Gus had so much to talk about that they took no note of time, and their ride was ended almost before they knew it. When they reached the rancho, they found Uncle John standing on the porch, waiting for them.