Andy said nothing. His eye was studying a corner of the plan. “What’s that?” he demanded.
Uncle William bent to it. He lifted his face, beaming. “‘W’s room’—That’s my room,” he said.
Andy glared at it. “You going to live there—with him!”
“Why, no, Andy—not just live there—It’s a kind o’ place for me to stay nights, you know—if I get caught up there—stormy weather?” Uncle William looked at him a little anxiously.
Andy got up. “I’ve got to go ’long,” he said.
Uncle William’s face held him sympathetically. “I was goin’ to show you the rest of the plans,” he said.
“I don’t care about ’em,” said Andy. He moved away.
Uncle William’s big fingers found a stub of pencil in his pocket and brought it out. “I was thinking, Andy—” he said slowly.
Andy turned back—a little.
“I was wondering if you ’d mind havin’ the same room as me—up to Benjy’s?”