curiosity about Andyâs doings.
âHey, Mike! Did you hear, Joe? I own something, too! Not just kidding like you do, though.â He chuckled knowingly. âYou donât really own all that stuff, I know. You never paid for any of it. What I own, I bought it.â
âAll right,â said Joe. âWe heard you the first time. What do you own?â
Andy screwed up his eyes and twisted his face cunningly.
âYou neednât tell us if you donât want to,â said Terry cruelly. âNobody said you had to be friends.â
âIâm friends!â cried Andy, deeply hurtâ¦âGee, you know Iâm best friends. Iâm going to tell you, arenât I? Itâs justâ¦â His voice trailed off.
âGo on, Andyâgood old Andy!â cried Matt, almost bursting under the strain. âSpit it out, boy. Did you buy it with the three dollars?â
Andy tried to tell them, but the words seemed to be too big for his tongue to manage. âIâll show you,â he said at last. âIâll show you tonight.â
âI bet,â said Mike, not believing him.
âYou wait and youâll see,â Andy promised, hugging himself.
He was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but now his friends saw that his quietness had a waiting, explosive quality like a bomb. Mike and Joe exchanged looks but said nothing. Matt was amused, and made teasing remarks about âthe big secretâ until Terry told him briefly to stow it. There was a feeling of tension building up, and Joeâs long quiet face grew more and more serious. Whatever it was that gripped Andy so that everything else was shut out, he had been wrapped up in it for a whole week. What could he have bought for three dollars that could keep him in this state of round-eyed, hushed excitement? It was too much money for Andy, or it was not enough.
âHeâs bought a dog,â whispered Matt.
Mike and Joe exchanged a thoughtful look. That was one thing Andy really might have done, about which he might be very excited.
âIf he has, heâs been rooked,â muttered Terry. âThe sort of pup he could get for three dollars, he couldâve picked up for nothing.â
Mike was shaking his head. âNo. If it was a dog, heâd tell us.â
Evening came, and pale lights swung between tree-tops in the park. The boys went home through streets that were roaring and humming with the sound of cars and where white-coated men had sprung up like a crop of Saturday-night mushrooms. Later, when the giant voice was speaking with calm authority into every ear in Appington Hill, Andy arrived in the OâDaysâ back yard before it was half filled and drove everyone frantic with his impatience.
âTheyâre too slow tonight, arenât they, Mike? You wonât wait for âem if they donât come soon, will you? Donât you wish theyâd hurry up, Terry? This is nearly enough now, isnât it?â
âStand in that corner,â said Mike, exasperated, âand donât move or talk .â
At last the yard was filled. âComing, Terry? You coming, Joe? Hey, Matt!â For once, Andyâs friends followed him; and he swelled with pride and mystery as he led them, with many quiet chuckles, through the darkening streets. Halfway along the little passage he stopped suddenly, made shy by the very importance of his secret. âYouâre my friends,â he reminded them. âThatâs why Iâm showing you.â
âGet on with it, then,â said Mike unsympathetically.
They groped their way out to the cliff-top, and Andy felt the presence of shadowy forms on verandahs. âSh-sh,â he whispered mysteriously, and led the way down the rocks.
None of the others had the least idea of what was coming. Then Andy said âThere!â and threw out a hand to the wide circle of brilliance and movement below, they stared in a
Learning to Kill: Stories