“Oh, shucks,” boasted Christopher, “I guess they know we can take care of ourselves.” But his voice had not quite so confident a ring as usual. “Besides, Perk, there’s no other way to get home except by going through town.”
“We can go along Birch Lane to the crossroads. It is only half as far that way.”
Both boys whistled under their breath. Birch Lane was a lonely road by night!
“But how about me?” asked Billy. “I guess I’ve got to get home.”
“Yes,” chimed in Christopher, “it wouldn’t be polite not to take Bill home. He’s our company.”
“Besides, Perk, there’s your bicycle that you left at our house.”
“We can drop Bill at the turn. It’s only two miles from there home, and I guess that’s nothing of a walk for you, is it, Bill? I’ll come in after the bicycle in the morning.”
“I don’t think it’s treating Bill right, to dump him like that,” argued Christopher. If he did not relish the drive along Birch Lane in Perk’s companionship, Birch Lane with its ghostly, whispering white sentinels, the silver birch trees, how much less must Bill look forward to walking by himself along the deserted wood road? Christopher was sincerely sympathetic. “Besides,” he added, “I feel pretty sure that Jane will be waiting for us, Perk. I told her I’d come for her, and she knows that I always keep my word.”
“Oh, pshaw! She knew long before this that you weren’t coming for her, leastways, not at the time you said. And I guess your grandma’s pretty nigh crazy by this time. No, we’ve got to get home as soon as ever we can and take our thrashings. Bill ain’t afraid to walk, and here’s the turn. Hop out, Bill.”
“Who’s afraid?” demanded Billy, in a boastful voice, jumping out over the wheel with affected alacrity. “And it’s only girl-boys that get thrashed for staying out late. I’ve been out lots later than this. My, Jo Perkins, if I was as old as you I guess I wouldn’t let anybody thrash me! Not much. Not for anything like that!”