“Betcha.”
“What luck!” said Westy. “Crestwood Boys’ School isn’t far from my house.”
“I’m hardly ever home,” said Mitchell.
Westy could tell it by his New Jersey accent. It was true his manner was a trifle snobbish, but Westy rather liked him.
“What you doing in town, Martin?”
He told him and they walked on through the streets. They exchanged views on scout matters and after a while they came to a curio shop and Westy stopped a minute to look in the show window. Navajo blankets and silver jewelry, Pueblo pottery and moccasins and all the other little fascinating things one sees in the Santa Fe shops. He remarked about the skill of the Indians in making those things.
“Yes, they are!” Mitchell agreed. “Still, none of my family have ever had much use for Indians and yet we’ve lived with them around us all our lives.”
Getting warmer, Westy thought.
“How’s that, Mitchell?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Guess they don’t know themselves.”