Frank opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Too many!” he exclaimed. “I wish I had too many! I’ve never had more than one, and that was father’s when he was a boy.”
“Good night, Frank,” said Fred, suddenly swinging into a side street. “I am going to take a short cut home.”
“Good night, Fred,” called Frank.
“That’s a queer way for a fellow to act,” he thought, as he walked on alone. “I wonder what is the matter with him.”
Suddenly he heard footsteps, and in a moment Fred had caught up with him. “Here, take it, I don’t want another knife,” he said, thrusting the prize into Frank’s hand.
“Oh—oh, I don’t want your knife!” exclaimed Frank.
“Well, I don’t want it, either!” said Fred. “It belongs to you, anyway; and I believe you know it! I am almost certain you could see me peeping from under that handkerchief!”
“I was not quite sure,” said Frank; “not sure enough to say anything about it, anyway.”
“Well, if you don’t keep the knife I’ll throw it into the river,” said Fred, running away as fast as he could.