“Lots more!” he repeated. “Big handfuls.”
Then he remembered his discretion, his resolve to tell no one but Tug Blackstock about his discovery. Seeking to change the subject, he beamed upon Long Jackson.
“Thank you, Long,” he said politely. “I love peppermints. An’ Jim loves them, too.”
“Where did you say that hole in the tree was?” asked Long Jackson, reaching for the box that held the peppermints, and ostentatiously filling a generous paper-bag.
Woolly Billy looked apologetic and deprecating.
“Please, Long, if you don’t mind very much, I can’t tell anybody but Tug Blackstock that.”
Jackson laid the bag of peppermints a little to one side, as if to convey that their transfer was contingent upon Woolly Billy’s behaviour.
The child looked wistfully at the coveted sweets; then his red lips compressed themselves with decision and resentment.
“I won’t tell anybody but Tug Blackstock, of course,” said he. “An’ I don’t want any peppermints, thank you, Long.”
He picked up his package of tea and turned to leave the shop, angry at himself for having spoken of the secret and angry at Jackson for trying to get ahead of Tug Blackstock. Jackson, looking annoyed at the rebuff, extended his leg and closed the door. Woolly Billy’s blue eyes blazed. One of the other men strove to propitiate him.