There was no answer to this. A pair of eyes gazed at her steadily, and Peggy could hear the sound of a foot impatiently kicking the other side of the fence. She decided that flattery was going to get her nowhere with Tommy, and abandoned it for a more direct approach.
“I bet I know who taught you how to play,” she said. “It was Mr. Armour, wasn’t it?”
The scuffing stopped and Peggy thought she detected a flash of interest. She held out the picture to the little boy. “That’s Mr. Armour, isn’t it?”
The boy’s eyes grew round and he nodded his head briefly. “You know Mr. Armour?” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“No,” Peggy admitted. “I don’t. But I want to.”
“Why?” Tommy demanded. “You want to learn how to play?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Tommy nodded. “He can teach you. He can teach anybody.” He eyed her moodily. “Even girls.”
“I bet he can,” Peggy said, wondering why all little boys seemed to have such vast scorn where girls were concerned. “The only trouble is,” she went on, “I don’t know where to find him. Do you know?”
The kicking on the other side of the fence started in again. Tommy lowered his eyes and stared at Peggy’s feet. “It’s a secret,” he muttered.