“Oh, yes, I can. Besides, I guess you can get along all right. You seem to have plenty of other fellows.”
“Kid, old boy,” said Harry, beginning to see where the trouble lay, “don’t talk like that. You know, as sure as you’re standing there, that I—Why, old man, you don’t forget that week we spent together, do you?”
“You didn’t have any one else, then. Everybody knows it’s easy to play me for a good thing.” He turned to his printing-frame.
Harry watched him.
“Did it print all right, old man?” he asked, almost humbly.
Gordon, ignoring the question, started down the hill, but Harry caught up with him. “Wait a minute, Kid,” said he. “I don’t want Red Deer to know about this. Wait, just a minute, please. You know, we can’t always stick together, here in camp. Naturally, I’m interested in some things and you’re interested in others—photographing, for instance. And I’ve got the aeroplane craze now. I’ll get over it, you know, just as you got over the mumps. Would you have gone to the village with us, if we’d waited? They all say I’ll break my neck yet. Won’t you help us make the glider, Kid? Come ahead.”
“That all you’ve got to say?” said Gordon.
“No, I want you to say that things are all right. I know we haven’t seen much of each other this week, but you know how it is, Kid. I was thinking, coming up the hill,” he added, in a pathetic attempt to arouse the younger boy’s interest, “that your suction-pad—you know, the one you invented—would be great if there were a ledge on that precipice—”
“Oh, give us a rest,” said Gordon. “There’s Langford and Reed waiting for you, down there.”
“Kid,” said Harry, putting his hand on Gordon’s shoulder, “do you remember—”