“Sure he’ll win; we’ve—they’ve got to win—the Bridgeboro troop.”
“Wish you were back in it?” Brent drawled.
“Sure, now that the race is coming on. Gee whiz, I was in that patrol since it started—I was in it before it started even, because I was with Doc. Carson when he thought of it. We were drinking sodas in Bennett’s—that’s in Bridgeboro—and he said the Ravens would be a good name and I said yes, only we’d have to wear black scarfs and I hate black but that’s not saying I don’t like licorice. Yum, yum! Anyway, I like Billy Simpson only most of the fellows don’t, because he doesn’t mix in with them, I guess. When he shook hands with me, oh baby, didn’t he twist my hand! He’s awful strong in the wrist, that feller is. Do you know how to not make a noise when you sneeze? I can do that. That’s good when you’re stalking.”
“He shook hands with you? Talked with you?”
“Sure, he’s not mad at me.”
“You get kind of lonesome sleeping in the dormitory?”
“Gee whiz, you can’t be lonesome when you’re asleep.”
“No, that’s true. But when you’re awake.”
“Part of the time I’m eating. I bet you don’t know how to tell if it’s going to be cold by moss.”
“No. You go up to the cabin much?”