“He’s got your flag! He’s got your flag!” Archie whispered in great excitement. “I know what it is, go on after him, hurry up and catch him!”
Wilfred stood spellbound. There, in the darkness of the night he stood at the parting of the ways, aghast, speechless. And he heard in his heart a silent voice, while two hands rested on his shoulders. “You promise then? Honor bright? You won’t run or....” Then the scene changed and his ready and troubled fancy pictured Wig Weigand sprawling on the grass with him while they gazed at that captured banner....
Then the petulant chatter of his companion recalled him quickly to the world of actual things.
“You’re afraid to run after him! Ain’t you going to chase him and get it? You got a right to—go on, run after him, quick; he’s half-way down the hill!”
Wilfred did not move.
“Ain’t you going——”
“Go on down to bed,” said Wilfred quietly, “go on, Archie.”
“Do you want me to tell? I got a right to tell you wouldn’t get it.”
“You don’t have to, but you can. Go on down to bed, Archie.”
“I don’t want to stay here and talk to you anyway,” said Archie.