“Bud,” was the answer.
“Bud for Buddington, I suppose?”
“No’m, jest Bud.”
“All right, Bud,” Florence’s smile was a doubtful one. She was beginning to suspect the truth.
“Bud Wax,” the boy added reluctantly.
Florence started. She had feared this. Bud Wax, known as the most troublesome boy on Laurel Branch, a boy who had been known to ride through the settlement at midnight shouting like a wild Indian and firing his pistol in air. And worst of all, he was a distant relative of Black Blevens and lived at his cabin.
What could be the answer? There could be but one; he had been sent to make trouble. If Black Blevens could break up the summer school he could all the more easily convince doubtful voters that these girls from the outside were unqualified to handle the school.
For a moment she wavered. She could refuse to admit him. The control of the summer school was in her hands. Yet there was no real reason to offer. Bud was larger and older than most of the other children, yet there were a few older than he.
“And besides,” she told herself as she set her lips tight, “to refuse to admit him is to surrender without a battle. I won’t surrender.”
All this thinking took but a half dozen seconds. At the end of that time she favored the boy with her very best smile and said: