"Do they, Ike?" I said.
"I never knew a man who didn't," said Ike, making the cups dance on the
table by giving it a thump with his fist. "Why, Master Grant, I was
kicked about and hit when I was a boy more'n ever a boy was before, but
all that time seems bright and sunshiny to me."
"But do you think Shock's happy?" I said; "he's a boy, and has no one
to care about him."
"Happy! I should just think he is. All boys has troubles that they
feels bad at the time, but take 'em altogether they're as happy as can
be. Shock's happy enough his way or he wouldn't have been singing all
night atop of the load. There, you're a boy, and just you be thankful
that you are, my lad; being a boy's about as good a thing as there is."
We had nearly finished our breakfast when Ike turned on me sharply.
"Why, you don't look as if you was glad to be a boy," he said.
"I was thinking about what Mr Brownsmith will say when he knows I've
been in such trouble," I replied.
"Ah, he won't like it! But I suppose you ain't going to tell him?"
"Yes," I said, "I shall tell him."
Ike remained silent for a few minutes, and sat slowly filling his pipe.
At last, as we rose to go, after Ike had paid the waitress, he said to
me slowly: "Sometimes doing right ain't pleasant and doing wrong is. It's quite
right to go and tell Old Brownsmith and get blowed up, and it would be
quite wrong not to tell him, but much the nystest. Howsoever, you tell
him as soon as we get back. He can't kill yer for that, and I don't
s'pose he'll knock yer down with the kitchen poker and then kick you
out. You've got to risk it."
I did tell Old Brownsmith all my trouble when we reached home, and he
listened attentively and nodding his head sometimes. Then he said
softly, "Ah!" and that was all.
But I heard him scold Master Shock tremendously for going off from his
work without leave.
Shock had been looking on from a distance while I was telling Old
Brownsmith, and this put it into his head, I suppose, that I had been
speaking against him, for during the next month he turned his back
whenever he met me, and every now and then, if I looked up suddenly, it
was to see him shaking his fist at me, while his hair seemed to stand up
more fiercely than ever out of his crownless straw hat like young
rhubarb thrusting up the lid from the forcing-pot put on to draw the
stalks.