“Positively,” laughed Chesty Marshall; “more so.”
“So I say we all stick together,” Pee-wee continued enthusiastically, “and stay at the farm and that’ll serve her right and then she’ll wish she was back again because, gee whiz, I can see she’d like you a lot. Anyway I have to admit she’s pretty. But, gee, she didn’t have a right to go back on me when she was my pal, did she?”
“She was horrid,” said Pocahontas Gamer.
“Scout,” said Fuller Bullson, “they’re all alike.”
“They’re not!” said Pocahontas Gamer; “I don’t care anything about you and your dancing, so there.”
“We get you,” said Ray; “I mean they’re all alike only different.”
“So you will stay?” Pee-wee asked excitedly. “And we’ll kind of have a conspiracy and—”
“Scout, we’re with you to the death,” said Fuller Bullson.
“Hssh,” Ray whispered to Pee-wee; “the old fellow inside is worth a barrel of money; his name is Koyn and he wears a check suit—and all the checks are certified. He’s very high and mighty. Shh, he’s going to buy the Drerie Railroad and close it up. If the farm strikes him right, we’ll hold him up and make him come across with a brass band. His whole family is coming up.
“We’ll pull off a couple of pink teas and have a barn dance and make Trotsky in there play his fiddle and we’ll have Stillwater Hopeless asking for an armistice inside of a week. It’s all over but the shouting, Scout. Goodmere Farm is the best place I’ve never seen. Goodyear tires may be the best in the long run but Good-bye Farm, or whatever you call it, is the best in the long walk. Shh. I’m glad you confided in us, Scout. And you can see the advantage of not knowing where you’re going to.”