So then he held his flashlight to my finger and I said, “What do you know about that? I’m carrying a lumber yard around with me. I thought I felt kind of heavy.”
“Have you got a needle?” he asked.
“A crowbar would be better,” I told him.
“Hold still,” he said, and then he just pulled it out with his fingers.
“That ought to be worth a couple of dollars, hey?” I said, “with the high cost of timber.”
So then we both laughed. Anyway, Dorry and I were always good friends, you can bet.
He was just going to turn off the flashlight, when I noticed that piece of newspaper sticking out of his jacket pocket and I pulled it out, just kind of half joking, and I said, “Here’s what I want. Gaylong said I could read it.”
Gee whiz, there wasn’t any harm in that. Oftentimes I’d do things like that with fellows, and especially Dorry, because I’d known him so long.
“You put that back,” he said, kind of mad.
“What’s the use of getting mad?” I said. “You’re grouchy because you can’t sleep. Here, let’s have your flashlight.” And I just grabbed that out of his pocket, too.