“I’m not hungry, mother,” was the revised edition which the freckle-faced boy offered to the maternal ear.  “I—­we are going over to Mr. Claiborne’s—­on—­er—­on an errand for Abner’s father.”

The black-eyed boy looked reproach as they clattered up the stairs to Ross’s room, where the clean collar was produced and a small stock of ties.

“You’d wear a necktie—­wouldn’t you?” Ross asked, spreading them upon the bureau-top.

“Yes.  But make it fall carelessly over your shirt-front,” advised the student of Hints and Helps.  “Your collar is miles too big for me.  Say!  I’ve got a wad of white chewing-gum; would you flat it out and stick it over the collar button?  Maybe that would fill up some.  You kick my foot if you see me turning my head so’s to knock it off.”

“Better button up your vest,” cautioned Ross, laboring with the “careless” fall of his tie.

“Huh-uh!  I want ’that easy air which presupposes familiarity with society’—­that’s what it says in my book,” objected Abner.

“Sure!” Ross returned to his more familiar jeering attitude.  “Loosen up all your clothes, then.  Why don’t you untie your shoes?  Flop a sock down over one of ’em—­that looks ‘easy’ all right.”

Abner buttoned his vest.  “It gives a man lots of confidence to know he’s good-looking,” he remarked, taking all the room in front of the mirror.

Ross, at the wash-stand soaking his hair to get the curl out of it, grumbled some unintelligible response.  The two boys went down the stairs with tremulous hearts.

“Why, you’ve put on another clean shirt, Rossie!” Mrs. Pryor called from her chair—­mothers’ eyes can see so far!  “Well—­don’t get into any dirty play and soil it.”  The boys walked in silence—­but it was a pregnant silence; for as the roof of the Claiborne house began to peer above the crest of the hill, Ross plumped down on a stone and announced, “I ain’t goin’.”

“Come on,” urged the black-eyed boy.  “It’ll be fun—­and everybody will respect us more.  Champe won’t throw rocks at us in recess-time, after we’ve called on her.  She couldn’t.”

“Called!” grunted Ross.  “I couldn’t make a call any more than a cow.  What’d I say?  What’d I do?  I can behave all right when you just go to people’s houses—­but a call!”

Abner hesitated.  Should he give away his brilliant inside information, drawn from the Hints and Helps book, and be rivalled in the glory of his manners and bearing?  Why should he not pass on alone, perfectly composed, and reap the field of glory unsupported?  His knees gave way and he sat down without intending it.

“Don’t you tell anybody and I’ll put you on to exactly what grown-up gentlemen say and do when they go calling on the girls,” he began.

“Fire away,” retorted Ross, gloomily.  “Nobody will find out from me.  Dead men tell no tales.  If I’m fool enough to go, I don’t expect to come out of it alive.”