“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed quickly. Then, lest Perk should have heard the rattle of the marbles he said carelessly: “I play with Jane sometimes—to amuse her. And there’s a boy lives in our street that coaxes me to have a game with him once in a while. I do it to please him ’cause he’s lame, but it never seems fair to play for keeps with him. He’s only eight and a half.”
Christopher hauled the bag of marbles out of his pocket and displayed them indifferently, as if they were spoils. But all the time his heart thumped guiltily at the white lie he was acting, for up to the present moment he had loved the game of marbles and had looked upon it as a manly sport.
“Gee, did you win all them? They’re beauties,” exclaimed Perk in admiration, transferring the reins to one hand in order to examine the different marbles.
“No, not exactly all,” admitted Christopher, “some I had. And some I traded,” he added, thrusting the bag back into his pocket.
“Hum. Want to swap knives?”
Christopher’s heart sank. His father had presented him with a very wonderful, five-bladed knife as a farewell gift. Christopher had not even whittled with it yet. The idea of parting with it hurt. He drew it from his pocket with mingled pride and concern. He did not want to appear unmanly, but he was quite sure that Perk could have nothing half so good to trade.
But Perk saw the value of the knife and was square enough to refuse to take any advantages. He admired it even more extravagantly than he had done the marbles.
“Of course you don’t want to swap something that was a present,” he said. “’Twouldn’t be treating your daddy right.”
“You can borrow it whenever you want,” replied Christopher gratefully.
Presently Perk called Christopher’s attention to several flaming posters that decorated the rail fences on either side of the road.