Roscoe sprang forward impulsively and grasped Tom's hand.
"Now you spilled my coffee," said Tom impassively.
"Tom, I don't know how to take you," Roscoe said feelingly; "you're a puzzle to me. I never realized what sort of a chap you were—when I used to make fun of you and jolly you. Let's feel your old muscle," he added, on the impulse. "I wish I had a muscle like that...."
"Tie a double cord around it, and I'll break the cord," said Tom simply.
"I bet you can," said Roscoe proudly, "and—you saved me from ... I don't know what you did it for...."
"I got no objections to telling you," said Tom. "It's because I liked you. There might have been other reasons, but that's the main one. If I only knew how to act and talk—especially to girls—and kind of make them laugh and——"
"Don't talk that way," said Roscoe, sitting on the edge of the bunk and speaking with great earnestness. "You make me feel like a—like a criminal. Me! What am I? You tell Margaret Ellison about how you can break a cord around your arm—and see what she'll say. That's the kind of things they like to know about you. You don't know much about them——"
"I never claimed I did," said Tom.
"Here, I'm going to try you—call your bluff," said Roscoe, with a sudden return to that gay impulsiveness which was so natural to him. "Here's the cord from the salmon cans——"
"You should never bring salmon in big cans," said Tom, unmoved. "'Cause it don't keep long after you open it. You should have small cans of everything."