“Sure.”

“Word and honor?”

“Sure.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Sure.”

Still she hesitated, arm in air.

“Will you promise to throw it back?”

“Sure, hope to die. Chuck it.”

“Get back a little,” said she.

The ball went sailing over the paling, Tom caught it, gave a yell of triumph, beat a tattoo upon the can, and ran for all he was worth.