“How much?”
“Well, maybe it wasn't any at all,” Eddy burst out, in desperation, “but I don't see what odds it makes. I call it an awful fuss about a little mite of candy, for my part.”
“Now about that boy?” inquired Anderson.
“Oh, shucks, there wasn't any boy, I s'pose.” Eddy gazed resentfully and admiringly at the man. “Say,” he said, without the slightest sarcasm, rather with affection and perfect seriousness, “you are awful smart, ain't you?”
Anderson modestly murmured a disclaimer of any especial smartness.
“Yes, you are awful smart,” declared Eddy. “Is it because you used to be a lawyer that you are so smart?”
“The law may make a difference in a man's skill for finding out the truth,” admitted Anderson.
“Say,” said the boy, “I've been thinking all along that when I was a man I would rather be a grocer than anything else, but I don't know but I'd rather be a lawyer, after all. It would be so nice to be able to find out when folks were not telling the truth, and trying to hide when they had been stealing and doing bad things. ‘No, you don't,’ I'd say; ‘no, you don't, mister. I see right through you.’ I rather think I'd like that better. Say?”
“What is it?” asked Anderson.
“Why didn't you come to the wedding? I saved a lot of things for you.”