“I used to think I was,” Tom said.
“It’s good you got out of ’em.”
“What’s your name?”
“Arnold Henshaw, but you can call me Spiff, if you want to—it don’t worry me.”
“That’s short for spiffy?” said Brent.
“Yop—it don’t bother me, it don’t. They’re a fresh bunch up there, I’ll tell the world.”
“You camping up there, Spiff?” Tom asked.
“I was, but I’m through—never again—I’ll say.”
“Had a falling out with them?”
“Nix, they had a falling out with me.”