“Just between us,” he said, “could you give me any accurate information as to the sex of the Scout Master?”
The Bee Master leaned back.
“I could go no farther than my own conclusions,” he said. “And it wouldn’t be fair to the Scout Master to deal in surmises. Did you ever have any conversation on the subject?”
“I asked point blank,” said Jamie.
“And what were you told?” inquired the Bee Master.
“That if I could not tell, it didn’t make any difference.”
The Bee Master’s head rolled back on the pillows. He laughed until a nurse came racing. As he wiped his eyes with the handkerchief she gave him, he said: “Well, really now, isn’t that about the truth? Does it make a particle of difference?”
“I don’t know that it does,” said Jamie. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem to have made any with you. I see no reason why it should with me.”
He rose to go.
“We’ll make it Saturday,” he said, “and I think you’ll be asked if I got your hot dog right.”
The Bee Master reached under the pillow and pulled out a small envelope, a tiny prescription envelope.
“In case I am,” he said, “the one thing I’ve never done is to lie to my little partner. I’ll tell the truth. I’ll show the money waiting under the pillow until the doctor says I may have the treat.”
“I see,” said Jamie, “and I think you’re right. I don’t believe we get very far with the lies we tell children.”
