“No, sir! We don’t wear bibs out there.”
As far as William Bannister was concerned, this appeared to settle it. Of all the trials of his young life he hated most his bib.
“Let’s go!”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
“Right, squire; we will,” he said. “But I guess we had best leave a letter for Mamie, so’s she won’t be wondering where you’ve got to.”
“Will Mamie be cross?”
“Not on your life. She’ll be tickled to death.”
He scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and left them on the cot, from which William Bannister had now scrambled.
“Can you dress yourself?” asked Steve.
“Oh, yes.” It was an accomplishment of which the White Hope was extremely proud.