don't care whether he sells you anything or not; he's too lazy to stock up with fresh goods all the while, and he's poor and don't amount to much. I guess when Tom Perkins was our age he'd have gone to the White Mountains with us, and Bill Green wouldn't."
"Probably," said Art, "but there are too many Bill Greens in the world!"
"Right-o," said Peanut. "I'll tell you something else, Art. Some of the fellers' folks won't let 'em go. I was talking with Dennie's old man the other day. Gee, he's got money enough! He could give Dennie twenty-five dollars and never know it. He said, 'What's the matter with you boys? Ain't Southmead good enough for you, that you want to go hikin' off a thousand miles?' He got my goat, and I just came back at him!"
"What did you say?" asked Art.
Peanut chuckled. "I wasn't exactly polite," he answered. "'Mr. O'Brien,' said I, 'if you'd been off more, you'd know that one of the best ways to get an education is to travel. Southmead's only a little corner of a big world.' 'Well, it's big enough for me, and for Dennis,' he says, and I answered, 'It's too big for you. You're so small you'd rattle 'round in a pea-pod.'"
"And then what happened?" asked Art.
"Then I ran," Peanut laughed. "Gee, he was
