“How’d you like ’em?” asked Joe, winking at Blake over the lad’s head.
“Say, they was the bulliest pictures ever I see, and I go to all the shows when I can!” he cried with enthusiasm. “They was certainly some pictures, believe me! I would like to have been there myself, only not too close,” he added, with caution. “The fellers who took them movies sure must have had nerve. I’d like to meet ’em.”
“We took those pictures,” said Blake, suddenly.
The lad looked at him for a moment. Then a curious look came over his face.
“Say!” he remarked in withering tones, “I’m much obliged to you for the dime—I sure am, ’cause I don’t git many. But there ain’t no call for you to try to string me that way—jest ’cause you slipped me a dime.”
“But we did take those pictures,” insisted Joe.
The boy edged away, as though he were afraid they might take strenuous measures to compel him to believe them. Then, as a parting shot, he called out:
“Much obliged for the dime, but I ain’t as green as I look, mister. You take them pictures? Bah! Think I’ll believe that?” And he set off on the run.
“I guess we might have better kept still,” spoke Blake, with a grin at his chum.
“I guess so, too. I s’pose it was asking rather too much to get him to believe a couple of strange fellows took those views. And do you know, Blake,” went on Joe, “sometimes when I get to thinking about what we’ve gone through since we used to work on the farm, I can hardly believe it myself.”