“Well, I wasn’t.”
“So?” Lon appeared to reflect briefly. “Huh! Then you must ’a’ been like a feller I seen goin’ over a dam one freshet time—lots o’ hurry and no special intention.”
“What happened to him?”
Lon shook his head. “Dunno. Guess he got out of it all right, somehow. Turns out that way now and then.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Sam.
Again Lon surveyed his youthful friend. “Huh! Something botherin’ you, eh?”
“Yes—bothering me a lot.”
There was a pause. Lon, perceiving that Sam was not disposed to explain his trouble, respected his reticence, and asked no questions.
“Guess, mebbe, I made a mistake to stop you,” he remarked at last. “Old Dr. Shanksmare cures a heap o’ misery—him and his open air treatment. Feelin’ as you do, guess you might as well run along.”
But Sam, having been halted, seemed to be in no haste.