“Can you get away with it? Can’t dodge all risks, can you? But when you have to take one, isn’t there a safer way than the first way you think of? Just stop and figure. It pays!”
Varley shook his head. “That’s all right for mathematical sharps,” he said laughingly; “but I’m not in that class. The tree would fall on me, or I’d drown, or the bull would toss me over the fence, long before I could cipher out what the chances were.”
“Pays, all the same, to try,” the Shark insisted.
Varley glanced a little inquiringly at Sam. As has been explained, he was older than the club’s members, and more versed in the ways of the world; and now he had an intuition that the boys, while satisfied with their club’s title, were not eager to discuss it with a comparative stranger. He looked at Sam, but Sam said nothing.
The visitor buttoned his overcoat. “Guess I’ll be running along,” he remarked. “Mighty glad to have had a look at your den.”
“We’re glad you like it,” said Sam, reminded of his manners.
Varley moved toward the door. He was quite aware that nobody had asked him to call again, and for the first time since his arrival began to feel a trifle of embarrassment.
“Fine place—bully!” he said. “I—er—er—I don’t suppose anybody is going my way?”
Now, there was something in the other’s manner which brought a sudden change in the plans of Sam Parker. Maybe his instinct of hospitality stirred; he might at least escort this unbidden guest whom he had failed to welcome warmly.
“Guess I’ll trot along, too.” He caught up his cap and overcoat, put them on, and slipped into his overshoes. “Ready, when you are,” he added.