Белая птичка
Pilkington’s
OlivernudgedDavidandretiredafewpaces,whereuponDavidsaidtomesolemnly,
“OliverisgoingtoPilkington’s.”
Iimmediatelyperceivedthatitwassomeschool,butsolittledidIunderstandtheimportofDavid’sremarkthatIcalledoutjocularly,“Ihopehewon’tswishyou,Oliver.”
EvidentlyIhadpainedbothofthem,fortheyexchangedglancesandretiredforconsultationbehindatree,whenceDavidreturnedtosaywithemphasis,
“Hehastwojacketsandtwoshirtsandtwoknickerbockers,allrealones.”
“Welldone,Oliver!”saidI,butitwasthewrongthingagain,andoncemoretheydisappearedbehindthetree.Evidentlytheydecidedthatthetimeforplainspeakingwascome,fornowDavidannouncedbluntly:
“HewantsyounottocallhimOliveranylonger.”
“WhatshallIcallhim?”
“Bailey.”
“Butwhy?”
“He’sgoingtoPilkington’s.Andhecan’tplaywithusanymoreafternextSaturday.”
“Whynot?”
“He’sgoingtoPilkington’s.”
SonowIknewthelawaboutthething,andwemovedontogether,Oliverstretchinghimselfconsciously,andmethoughtthatevenDavidwalkedwithasedaterair.
“David,”saidI,withasinking,“areyougoingtoPilkington’s?”
“WhenIameight,”hereplied.
“Andsha’n’tIcallyouDavidthen,andwon’tyouplaywithmeintheGardensanymore?”
HelookedatBailey,andBaileysignalledhimtobefirm.
“Oh,no,”saidDavidcheerily.
ThussharplydidIlearnhowmuchlongerIwastohaveofhim.Strangethatalittleboycangivesomuchpain
