CHAPTER TWO
Strange Business
With an angry gesture Freddy Farmer changed his rain slicker to his other arm, and pushed his service cap to the back of his head.
"Blast it, I'm going to rest!" he cried, and instantly pulled up to a halt. "You said a walk, Dave, not a cross-country hike to the Atlantic coast. You know how far we've come?"
Dawson slowed down and turned around with a grin.
"Who cares how far?" he said. "This is swell. The trouble with you is, you're falling apart from old age. But okay, if you have to rest. Some view, huh? Californians sure have a right to brag, don't they?"
"If they like," Freddy muttered, and sank down on a convenient tree stump by the side of the path. "But it's not my old age, I'll have you know. It's these blasted new shoes. Only wore them once before. I certainly wouldn't have worn them if I'd thought you were coming this far. It's all of five miles, if it's an inch."
"Just the right distance for a nice work-out," Dawson said with a heartless grin, as he sank down beside Freddy. "But get those gunboats off and let's see if you've got any blisters. And speaking of blisters from new shoes, I once knew a guy who got a blister, and two days later, guess what?"
"What?" Freddy Farmer grunted, and began unlacing his shoes. "What about two days later?"
"He died, just like that," Dawson grinned, and snapped his fingers. "He was a swell guy, too. And it was just a little tiny blister. Didn't seem like anything at all. Let's have a look, kid. Maybe you got a big blister."