As he had half expected, most of the men strayed in and perched here and there listening just as if there had not been a most unusual horserace to discuss before they slept.

Indeed, Bud had never seen the Little Lost boys so thoughtful, and this silence struck him all at once as something sinister, like a beast of prey stalking its kill.
Two waltzes he played--and then, in the middle of a favorite two-step, a mandolin string snapped with a sharp twang, and Bud came as close to swearing as a well-behaved young man may come in the presence of a lady.
"Now I'll have to go get a new E string," he complained.

"You play the Danube for the boys--the way I taught you--while I get this fixed.

I've an extra string down in the bunk-house; it won't take five minutes to get it." He laid the mandolin down on his chair, bolted out through the screen door which he slammed after him to let Jerry know that he was coming, and walked halfway to the bunk-house before he veered off around the corner of the machine shed and ran.
Jerry was waiting by the old shed, and without a word he led Bud behind it where Sunfish was standing saddled and bridled.
"You got to go, Bud, while the going's good.

I'd go with yuh if I dared," Jerry mumbled guardedly.