“Wisht you had,” Donald repeated.
“We was,” said Jimmie.
Donald threw back his head, puffed out his chest, dug his hands in his pockets and strutted off. It was the first time, poor lad! he had ever won the right to swagger in the presence of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail. To be sure, he made the most of it!
But he was not yet cured.
Donald North himself told me this––told me, too, what he had thought, and what he said to his mother––N. D.