“Herself. She told me so when she k-k-kissed me goodbye.” Buddy’s eyes winked rapidly. “But she didn’t tell me to tell you that,” he reflected.
“Did she give you any other message?”
“Not exac’ly a message.”
“Go on! Out with it.”
“You need n’t bite a feller,” expostulated young Mr. Higman. “She told me if ever you got what you was after, to go to you an’ ast for a job, when I needed it, for the sake of a mut—mut—some kind of friend.”
Jem registered a silent and pious vow. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Do I get the job?”
“If I can give it to you.”
“Say, Mr. Robson. I guess she meant you was that kind of friend. Are you a friend of hern?”
Jem got it out at last: “Yes.”