Willy spoke to him that night when they were setting out rows of seedlings, under the supervision of Jinx.
“I wouldn't worry her, Dan,” he said; “it is the spring, probably. It gets into people, you know. I'm that way myself. I'd give a lot to be in the country just now.”
Dan glanced at him quickly, but whatever he may have had in his mind, he said nothing just then. However, later on he volunteered:
“She's got something on her mind. I know her. But I won't have her talking back to mother.”
A week or so after Willy Cameron had moved, Mr. Hendricks rang the bell of the Boyd house, and then, after his amiable custom, walked in.
“Oh, Cameron!” he bawled.
“Upstairs,” came Willy Cameron's voice, somewhat thickened with carpet tacks. So Mr. Hendricks climbed part of the way, when he found his head on a level with that of the young gentleman he sought, who was nailing a rent in the carpet.
“Don't stop,” said Mr. Hendricks. “Merely friendly call. And for heaven's sake don't swallow a tack, son. I'm going to need you.”
“Whaffor?” inquired Willy Cameron, through his nose.
“Don't know yet. Make speeches, probably. If Howard Cardew, or any Cardew, thinks he's going to be mayor of this town, he's got to think again.”