“No stops,” Hervey said, hiking right along. “Carnival next stop.”
“Just a minute,” Brent said; “we’re going to ’phone from that station.”
“And be ordered home,” Hervey said. “Nix on that.”
“We’re going to ’phone,” Brent said, “so that settles it.”
“It settles us, all right,” Hervey said. He didn’t seem mad or disgruntled, he seemed just happy-go-lucky, the way he always is. Anyway I couldn’t see that he was sore about it. The kid was sore because he couldn’t get a soda, but Hervey wasn’t. When I thought about it afterward—after what happened—I remembered that he wasn’t mad. I guess I never saw him really mad anyway. He just said, “We’re making the mistake of our lives, Gaylong. Safety first.”
“That’s just what I say,” Brent laughed.
“If it’s got to be did, I’ll did it,” said Hervey. And he just kept on marching right around and over toward the station.
Warde said, “You ought to be the one to talk, Brent.”
“What’s the difference?” Brent said. Then he called, “Hey, Hervey, do you know what number to ask for?”
“I’ll ask her what number she’s got,” he called back. “I’ll pick out a nice one.”