The day wore slowly away without further information concerning Hooker until near night, when it was learned that some one had made inquiries about him over the phone, and that his mother had said his condition seemed unchanged.
At dusk Piper met Chipper Cooper at the end of the upper bridge. They looked at each other inquiringly, and, after some moments of silence, Chipper said:
“Well?”
“Well?” returned Billy with precisely the same inflection.
“I’m pretty near sick,” declared Cooper. “I hear Roy is no better. It’s bad, Pipe—bad.”
“Rotten,” agreed Billy, leaning against the railing.
Cooper leaned at his side, and their tongues seemed chained. Beneath the bridge the water gurgled and whispered. In the gathering shadows a robin called plaintively from a treetop some distance away. The village appeared almost as deserted and lonely as the hamlet of Goldsmith’s immortal poem. A heavy weight, like lead, seemed to weigh upon the souls of the two unhappy boys.
After a time Cooper heaved a sigh.
“It’s bad,” he repeated—“bad!”
“Rotten,” said Piper again.