Skyrider | Page 8

if I had the
sand,"
Bud finished unctuously, adjusting the tune to fit the words.
Johnny swore, flung open the low door of the bunk house, went in, and

slammed it shut after him, and began to pack his personal belongings.
Presently Tex came in, warbling like a lovesick crow:
"I'll cir-cle high 's if pass-in' by, Then vol-lup bank-an' la-a-and--"
"So will this la-and," Johnny said viciously and threw one of his new
riding boots straight at the warbler. "For gosh sake, lay off that stuff!"
Tex caught the boot dexterously without interrupting his song, except
that he forgot the words and sang ta-da-da-da to the end of the verse.
"Po'try was wrote to be read," he replied sententiously when he had
finished. "And tunes was made to be sung. And yo' all oughta be proud
to death at the way yo' all made a hit with yore po'try. It beats what
Mary V wrote, Skyrider. If yo' all want to know my honest opinion,
Mary V's plumb sore because yo' all made up po'try about Venus instid
of about her." He sat down on a corner of the littered table and began to
roll a cigarette, jerking his head towards the bungalow and lowering
one eyelid slowly. "Girls, I'm plumb next to 'em, Skyrider. I growed up
with four of 'em. Mary V loves that there Venus stuff, and kissin' her
snow-white hand, same as a cat loves snow. Jealous--that's what's bitin'
Mary V."
Johnny was sorting letters, mostly circulars and "follow up" letters
from various aviation schools. He looked up suspiciously at Tex, but
Tex manifested none of the symptoms of sly "kidding." Tex was
smoking meditatively and gazing absently at Johnny's suitcase.
"Yo' all ain't quittin'?" Tex roused himself to ask. "Not over a little josh?
Say, you're layin' yoreself wide open to more of the same. Yo' all wants
to take it the way it's meant, Skyrider. Listen here, boy, if yo' all wants
to git away from the ranch right now, why don't yo' all speak for to stay
at Sinkhole camp? Yo' all could have mo' time to write po'try an' study
up on flyin' machines, down there. And Pete, he's aimin' to quit the first.
He don't like it down there."
Johnny dropped the letters back into his suitcase and sat down on the
side of his bed to smoke. His was not the nature to hold a grudge, and

Tex seemed to be friendly. Still, his youthful dignity had been very
much hurt, and by Tex as much as the other boys. He gave him a
supercilious glance.
"I don't know where you get the idea that I'm a quitter," he said
pettishly. "First I knew that a bunch of rough-necks could kid me out of
a job. Go down to Sinkhole yourself, if you're so anxious about that
camp. Furthermore," he added stiffly, "it's nobody's business but mine
what I write or study, or where I write and study. So don't set there
trying to look wise, Tex--telling me what to do and how to do it. You
can't put anything over on me; your work is too raw. Al-to-gether too
raw!"
He glanced sidewise at a circular letter he had dropped, picked it up
and began reading it slowly, one eye squinted against the smoke of his
cigarette, his manner that of supreme indifference to Tex and all his
kind. Johnny could be very, very indifferent when he chose.
He did not really believe that Tex was trying to put anything over on
him; he just said that to show Tex he didn't give a darn one way or the
other. But Tex seemed to take it seriously, and glowered at Johnny
from under his black eyebrows that had a hawklike arch.
"What yo' all think I'm trying to put over? Hey? What yo' all mean by
that statement?"
Johnny looked up, one eye still squinted against the smoke. The other
showed surprise back of the indifference. "You there yet?" he wanted
to know. "What's the big idea? Gone to roost for the night?"
Tex leaned toward him, waggling one finger at Johnny. The outer end
of his eyebrows were twitching--a sign of anger in Tex, as Johnny
knew well.
"What yo' all got up yore sleeve--saying my work is raw! What yo' all
aimin' at? That's what I'm roostin' here to learn."
Johnny fanned away the smoke and gave a little chuckle meant to

exasperate Tex, which it did.
"I guess the roosting's going to be pretty good," he said. "You better
send cookee word to bring your meals to yuh, Tex. Because if you
roost there till I tell yuh, you'll be roosting a good long while!" He got
up and lounged out, his hands in his pockets, his well-shaped