“I hope you don’t mind being taken?”
Roy did mind. He was in a mood just now to object to everything, but the other’s voice was such an agreeable one, the glance of his eye so kindly that the boy’s real self came to the surface through his temporarily baser one, and he replied:
“Oh, I s’pose not, but I haven’t got the pleasant look the photographers tell you to put on. Aren’t you afraid I’ll break your camera?”
The answer was a quick snap and then the young man slung the camera over his shoulder and stepping out on the tree trunk slipped down to a seat beside Roy.
“You have a very cozy retreat here,” he remarked, “how’s the fishing?”
“I don’t know. To tell the truth I wasn’t thinking of my line at all and I’m almost sorry I let you take that picture. I don’t see what you wanted it for any way, I hope you won’t show it around much. You don’t live in Marley, do you?”
“No.”
“I’m glad of that”
“Why?” with a smile.
“Because nobody I know will be apt to see the picture.”