City Boy Read Free Page A

newly minted a fact, even for the credulity of a small girl. “You're a liar,” said she promptly.
    “You mean you are,” said Herbert, with no great logic, but with a natural grasp of the art of controversy.
    “I'll bet you a dime I'm going to his camp,” said the girl, falling into the trap and taking the defensive.
    “I'll bet you a dollar I am,” said Herbert.
    “I'll bet you ten dollars you're not.”
    “I'll bet you a thousand dollars
you're
not.”
    “I'll bet you a million dollars.”
    “I'll bet you a
billion
dollars.”
    The girl, unable to think quickly of the next order of magnitude, said with scorn, “Where are you gonna get a billion dollars?”
    “Same place you'll get a million,” retorted Herbie.
    “I can get a million dollars from my father if I want to,” said Red Locks, vexed at being continually on the defensive, though sensing she was in the right. “He's the biggest lawyer in Bronx County.”
    “That's nothing,” said Herbert. “My father owns the biggest ice plant in America.” (He was manager of a small ice plant in the Bronx.)
    “My father is richer than your father.”
    “My father could buy your father like an ice-cream cone.”
    “He could not,” said the girl hotly.
    “My father even has a way bigger lawyer for his ice plant than your father.” Herbie speedily searched his memory, reviewing conversations of his parents. “My father's lawyer is Louis Glass.”
    The girl uttered a triumphant little shriek. “Ha, ha, smartie!” she cried, jumping up and dancing a step or two. “My father
is
Louis Glass.”
    This astounding stroke left Herbie with no available fact, real or improvised, for a counterblow. He was reduced to a weak, “He is not, either.”
    “Is too!” shouted the girl, her eyes sparkling. “Here, if you're so clever, here's my name on my books—Lucille Glass.”
    Herbert deigned to inspect the notebook offered for his view, with the large childish inscription, “Lucille Marjorie Glass, 6B-3.”
    “You should of told me so right away,” he said magnanimously. “You can stay here, as long as your father is Louis Glass. 6B-3, huh? I'm in 7B-1. First on the honor roll.”
    “I'm third on the honor roll,” said Lucille, yielding at last the deference due an upperclassman, a head monitor, and a mental giant.
    With this advance in their relationship they fell silent, and became aware of being alone together on the small landing. The gay voices of the girls playing in the yard came faintly to them through the closed window. Herbie and Lucille self-consciously turned and watched the darting, frisking little figures for a while.
    “What were you doing up here, anyway?” said the boy at last, feeling that ease of speech was deserting him.
    “I'm on the girls' Police Squad,” said Lucille Glass, “and I'm supposed to watch this staircase during lunch.”
    She pulled a red band from her pocket and commenced pinning it around her arm. Encountering difficulty, she was gallantly aided by Herbie, who received the reward of a bashful smile. All this while Herbie was struggling with the question, whether it was not inconsistent for a Radiant One to be practically a member of his family, as Lucille's tie to his father's lawyer made her. His sister and his cousins were so empty of grace that he classed all family females in the low rank of girlhood. The aura of Red Locks seemed to waver and dim. However, as they grew silent once more, gazing out at the yard, Herbie felt himself quite tongue-tied, and the 10 glory brightened and shone as strongly as at first, and he realized that charms sufficiently powerful could overcome even the handicap of belonging to the family.
    “Well, gotta make my rounds,” he said abruptly. “So long.”
    “Good-by,” said the little girl, wrinkling her snub nose and red, firm cheeks at him in a friendly grin. As Herbie walked off the landing into the corridor, she called after him, “Are you really going to Camp Manitou this