* * * * *
Up in their room that night, Lorry helped Bud out of his coat. Shoop's arm was stiff and sore.
"And your mother would think it was a mighty queer business, if she knowed this," said Bud, "or who that number thirty-eight was down there."
"You sure made a good bluff, Bud."
"Mebby. But I was scared to death. When I was talkin' about Sterling so free and easy, and your maw mighty near ketched me that time, my arm was itchin' like hell-fire, and I dassen scratch it. I never knowed a fella's conscience could get to workin' around his system like that. Now, if it was my laig, I could 'a' scratched it with my other foot under the table. Say, but you sure showed red in your face when your maw said them Weston folks was up to the camp."
"Oh, I don't know."
"Well, I do. Here, hook onto your Uncle Bud's boot. I'm set: go ahead and pull. You can't do nothin' but shake the buildin'. Say, what does Bronson call his gal 'Peter Pan' for?"
"Why, it's a kind of foreign name," flashed Lorry. "And it sounds all right when you say it right. You said it like the 'pan' was settin' a mile off."
"Well, you needn't to get mad."