Jerry hadn’t thought of that but it looked reasonable to him.  He hesitated and Danny, seeing his advantage, was quick to push it.

“Besides, mother wouldn’t like it if you ran away.  She’d think I was to blame when I’m not at all.  I never even once thought of your runnin’ away.  You thought of it yourself, now didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jerry admitted.

“Mother’d think I had done something to you when I ain’t, have I?” Danny appealed.

“You wouldn’t let me play—­” Jerry began but was interrupted by Danny’s saying quickly: 

“You can next time we play circus, when I’ve had a chance to make the el’funt skin over for you.”

That did not seem inducement enough for Jerry and he decided to continue his interrupted running away.  He rose and turned slowly away from the fence and tried to imitate Darn Darner’s off-hand style of leave-taking.  “Well, so long, fellows,” he called nonchalantly over his shoulders, “I must be on my way.”

“Good-by, Jerry,” said Nora.

“Oh, Jerry!  Don’t go!” pleaded Celia Jane.

“You stay an’ be audience for this circus,” said Danny quickly, “an’ I’ll give you one of my tops.”

Jerry returned to the fence.  “The one with the red on it?” he asked.

“No, the other one.”

“It’s broken,” Jerry objected.

“An’ I’ll give you two fishhooks,” Danny hurriedly promised, “an’ a line an’ pole, an’ a horseshoe nail.”

“The rusty one!” cried Jerry, in a tone that was sarcastic.

Danny hesitated, swallowed quickly and responded, “No, the shiny one.”

“I don’t want no fishin’ pole an’ all,” said Jerry; “an’ the broken top an’ the shiny horseshoe ain’t enough.”

“I’ll give you my toy pistol,” said Danny.

“The trigger’s gone,” Jerry objected, “an’ a pistol ain’t no good without a trigger.”

“The golf ball I found in the weeds,” Danny offered.

“I don’t know how to play golf.”

“Aw, be reasonable, Jerry.  I can’t give you what you want.  I bought it with the money I got for mowin’ old man Barnes’s yard for a month.”

“I’ll be the audience for your white rabbit,” Jerry bargained, “an’ I won’t run away.”

“You want too much,” Danny objected. “’Tain’t as if I could get another rabbit right away.”

“An’ then Mother ’Larkey won’t think you made me run away,” pursued Jerry, pressing home his advantage.  “I won’t say nothin’ to her nohow about that.”

Danny did not reply at once and Jerry spoke again.

“You can keep your top an’ your shiny horseshoe nail, too.”

“You won’t say nothin’ to mother a-tall?” Danny weakened.

“No,” Jerry assured him.

“Cross your heart, hope to die an’ spit?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die an’ spit,” repeated Jerry, suiting the action to the word.

“All right, you can have the ole rabbit.  You’ll have to feed it, though.  I wouldn’t raise my finger to feed it, not if it was starvin’ to death.  I’d got kinda sick of always havin’ to feed it whenever I wanted to do something else, anyway.”