Roy did so and Billy praised it highly.
“You’re a genuine chartographer, aren’t you?” he said.
“Gee, Chub,” laughed Dick. “We called him everything else, but we never thought of that, did we?”
But Chub only grunted. Ever since Billy’s entrance he had been sitting silent, watching the visitor as a cat watches a mouse. Roy kicked his shins once when Billy wasn’t looking and begged him not to be a silly fool, but Chub only looked wise and frowned. Soon Billy was telling stories, some warranted strictly true and some frankly impossible, but all interesting. The boys forgot their low spirits and laughed and applauded and begged for more. All save Chub. Chub sat and watched, soberly, like an avenging Fate. From tales Billy passed to ventriloquism and held an animated conversation with a man named Bill Jones who was presumably sitting astride the ridge-pole and doubtless getting very wet.
“Gee!” said Dick admiringly. “I wish I could do that! Couldn’t you teach me?”
“If there was time enough,” answered Billy. “But I’m going on in a week or so, and as it took me two months to learn what I know about it I guess it wouldn’t be worth while starting to teach you. It’s just a trick of the voice, but it takes a lot of practice. Now I’ll hold a key in my teeth. Professionals pretend that that’s a difficult stunt, but as a matter of fact it isn’t anything at all, because you keep your mouth still anyway.”
“Were you ever on the stage?” asked Roy eagerly.
Billy shook his head.
“Not regularly,” he answered. “I did ventriloquism and sleight-of-hand tricks once for three nights.”
“Oh, can you do tricks, too?” cried Dick.