All of a sudden I heard Don start barking and then he stopped. So I knew somebody was coming that he knew. Then I heard somebody say, “You’re always suspicious, ain’t you,” and oh, I felt awful funny, because I knew it was Westy. It seemed as if he might be saying that to me, but I knew he was saying it to Don—just kind of jollying him. Maybe you think you can’t jolly a dog but you can. You can Don, anyway.
I didn’t know what I would say to him, because I thought probably he’d come to give me my two dollars and say he was sorry and must have been crazy or in a hurry. Jiminy, any excuse would be good enough for me, as long as he told me straight out about it, like he did in the ditch. And maybe things would get to be all right after a while. But I couldn’t understand how he could come up the lawn whistling and jollying Don and feeling so good. I don’t mean because he was hurt, because I knew that wasn’t so bad, but I didn’t see how he could be feeling so happy.
Pretty soon he came in and Don was jumping up all around him and wagging his tail.
“I’m glad you’re well enough to come out,” I said.
“You should worry about me,” he said; “I just have to limp a little, that’s all. I’m a swell looking Silver Fox, hey?” And then he gave me a push and rumpled my hair all up and said, “You won’t be ashamed of me on account of my honorable wounds, will you? I was a punk scout to go and do that.”
Gee, I didn’t know what to think, because it wasn’t anything to be laughing at, that’s sure.
“Do what?” I said.
“Run right into that ditch.”
“Is that what you meant you did—when you told me?” I said, kind of disappointed.
“Sure it is,” he said, “I’m a swell scout, hey? Going headlong into a ditch!”