I'll probably have plenty of better knives than that knife." The Wilbur twin questioned this, but hid his doubt.

Surely there could be few better knives in the whole world than one with a thing to dig stones out of horses' feet.

Anyway, he would be glad to have it, and was glad the promise had been made before witnesses.
After supper on the porch Dave Cowan in the hammock picked chords and scraps of melody from his guitar, quite as if nothing had happened.
Judge Penniman, in his wicker chair, continued to muse upon certain pleasant contingencies of this new situation.

It had occurred to him that Dave Cowan himself would be even more a Whipple than any Penniman, and would enjoy superior advantages inevitably rising from this circumstance.
"That family will naturally want to do something for you, too, Dave," he said at last.
"Do something for me ?" Dave's fingers hung waiting above the strings.
"Why not?
You're the boy's father, ain't you?
Facts is facts, no matter what the law says.

You're his absolute progenitor, ain't you?
Well, you living here in the same town, they'll naturally want you to be somebody, won't they ?" "Oh!" Dave struck the waiting chord.