“Jerry wouldn’t let anyone on the grounds,” I said. Jerry’s our gardener. “And besides Don wouldn’t, either.” He’s our dog—he’s a collie.
“Well, it isn’t there, anyway,” Westy said; “I lifted the oar-lock and felt underneath and I laid it down again, right where it was—on a book or something. When I flashed the light it wasn’t there. Come on, we’ll be late. I’d let you have two bucks if I had that much extra, but I’ve only got two myself. You can chip in yours to-morrow, it’ll be all right.”
I got up and I felt awful funny.
“Anyway, there’s no use being late,” he said; because I kind of just couldn’t start.
“It isn’t that I’m thinking about,” I told him, “It’s——”
“I know,” he said, “I thought about that, too, but we’ve got to hustle.”
So we started down the hill and neither of us said anything. Of course, we were both thinking about Skinny, but neither one of us would say it.
“Pee-wee’s to blame in a way,” Westy said, after a while; “it’s the belt-axe the poor kid was thinking about.”
“No, he isn’t to blame, either,” I said; “he didn’t mean anything—he didn’t mean for Skinny to do anything like that.”
“He should have kept his mouth shut,” Westy said.