BERT had started out with the intention of telling the Butterfly Man nothing . . . but now he knew he would have to tell him all. For the fear that had arisen in him all in a moment demanded immediate counsel and advice.
Old Man Clud, absorbed in the secrets of the little red book, had not seen him. Noiselessly he backed away, past the porch, out among the crowd. His bicycle was where he had left it. With the auctioneer's clamor for a higher bid in his ears he rode away, and his tires sang a higher note of speed than they had ever sung before to the gritty surface of the county highway.
To-day it was not necessary for him to ride all the way to the cabin. Scarcely had he left the highway for the dirt road than he saw a tall figure ahead striding along with legs that seemed to annihilate distance. Bert sounded his horn once, twice, three times. The man swung around and then hastily scrambled for the side of the road.
"Nothing doing," he shouted. "You had one chance at me out here and failed. Bea gentleman and let well enough alone."
