"I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and blue? You air a little liar."
Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by Jeff's fingers.
"The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff displayed honest concern.
"Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she would fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug."
So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the case.
"Twon't do fer me to look at her," he murmured; "but if ever there was a case----"
"Eh?"
"Never mind."
"What were you going to say?"
"Somethin' very fullish."