Ye won't? Well, then, don't! But, strictly between
ourselves, I'll tell ye something, although it's agen myself. If your
sister was here, right now, I--I'm so doggoned bashful--I wouldn't
have a word to say--that's a fact."
"I wish she were here," said Bud, savagely.
"Now, Bud; that's a real nasty one. Ye don't mean that. Did I hurt yer
shoulder, sonny?"
"Hurt it? I'll bet it's black and blue most already."
"I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and
blue? You air a little liar."
Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and
wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and
soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by
Jeff's fingers.
"The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff
displayed honest concern.
"Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his
own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she
_would_ fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as
I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug."
So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the
case.
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