“How large a place is Squiresburg, anyhow?” I queried.
“Oh, seven or eight hundred.”
“And how big is Hicksville?”
“Oh, two or three thousand.”
“But Squiresburg’s a better place than Hicksville,” put in the brother, who sat behind, chewing a stalk of hay and smiling broadly.
“How’s that?” inquired Franklin.
The fellow’s manner was contagious.
“Oh, they’re not as hard on yuh over in Squiresburg as they are in Hicksville.” He munched his straw suggestively. “Y' kin have a better time there.”
He smiled again, most elusively.
“Oh, this,” said Speed, quickly, forming his fingers into a cup and upending it before his lips.