“A few,” said Jim equably.
“So have I,” said Tom, and grinned.
“Were you waiting for Mr. Falkoner?” asked Jim.
“Not were,” corrected Harvers. “We are.”
“You were,” said Tom, still grinning.
Jim turned his head toward Tom without looking at him. “Shut up,” he said. And to Harvers: “He’s gone for the day. He won’t be home much before midnight.”
Ignoring Jim, Harvers turned his great head toward Nashe. “You owe me fifty cents.” To Woody: “I bet him all my worldly wealth that something very like this would happen.” He looked thoughtfully at nothing, and then lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. “Well—” Placing both cherubic hands on the arms of the chair, he just managed to get himself into a horizontal position. Looking at Jim, and at Tom, and then at Jim again, his tiny mouth thinned
