He cast about in his mind for a confederate, and after awhile settled upon a boy named Dick Bumstead.
This Dick had the reputation of being a scape-grace and a ne'er-do-well. He was about the age of John Haynes, but had not attended school for a couple of years, and, less from want of natural capacity than from indolence, knew scarcely more than a boy of ten. His father was a shoemaker, and had felt obliged to keep his son at home to assist him in the shop. He did not prove a very efficient assistant, however, being inclined to shirk duty whenever he could.
It was upon this boy that John Haynes fixed as most likely to help him in his plot. On his way home from school the next afternoon, he noticed Dick loitering along a little in advance.
“Hold on, Dick,” he called out, in a friendly voice, at the same time quickening his pace.
Dick turned in some surprise, for John Haynes had a foolish pride, which had hitherto kept him very distant toward those whom he regarded as standing lower than himself in the social scale.
“How are you, John?” he responded, putting up the knife with which he had been whittling.
“All right. What are you up to nowadays?”
“Working in the shop,” said Dick, shrugging his shoulders. “I wish people didn't wear shoes, for my part. I've helped make my share. Pegging isn't a very interesting operation.”
“No,” said John, with remarkable affability. “I shouldn't think there'd be much fun in it.”
“Fun! I guess not. For my part, I'd be willing to go barefoot, if other people would, for the sake of getting rid of pegging.”