"Thank you, I had rather not, if you don't mind. I think you will find that you don't like your place."
"Well," said Armitage affably, "then I can leave, you know."
"Yes, you can, all right; it 'll be sooner than you think. Come on, Muck," and the older brother turned and left the garage.
Muck, who for the past few seconds had been gazing at Armitage with wide eyes, slipped down from the car and stood in front of him.
"Say," he exclaimed, "you 're the fellow I gave that note to in church—the one from my sister—are n't you?"
He grinned as Armitage looked at him dumbly.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I shan't tell. Sister gave me a five-dollar gold piece. I thought you did n't act like a chauffeur. Say, show me that grip you got on Ronie, will you? He has been too fresh lately,—I want to spring it on him. Can I learn it?"
"Not that one." Armitage took the boy's hand, his thumb pressing back of the second knuckle, his fingers on the palm. He twisted backward and upward gently. "There 's one that's better, though, and easier. See? Not that way," as the boy seized his hand. "Press here. That's right. Now you 've got it. You can make your brother eat out of your hand."
"Thanks!" Muck left beaming, searching for his disgruntled brother—and Armitage had made a friend.
A minute later Royal, or Muck, as his nickname seemed to be, thrust his head into the garage. "You 're not going to say anything to mother about the cigarettes, are you?"