"You, man," said Davey. "I saw you drop the spoon and slop the milk all over. I scared _you_. How've you been?" "O.K. You didn't scare me. You just surprised me." Curiosity got the better of Foster. "But how did you get up so high? You're not tall enough to reach the window." "There's a good old garbage pail. Two good old garbage pails. I climbed up on one, _quiet_ as anything--" "How'd you know I was in here?" "I saw you let the dogs out when I was coming, and I thought I'd scare you. I knew you'd probably be in the kitchen. Could I have some corn flakes, too? No one's up at my house." "No one's up here, either. Sure," Foster said, and went to find another bowl and spoon. They sat eating and chattering, happy to resume their friendship. From time to time Davey would extract from his pocket some object he had brought to show Foster; first it was a compass, then a cap-pistol, then a small flashlight. "Christmas stuff," he said. "Stocking stuff." Next he brought out a pillbox with an elastic band around it. This he opened with tender care; inside, on a nest of cotton, lay his two front teeth. "Those are worth fifty cents," he told Foster. "A quarter apiece, man! They're my first ones; that's why. I'll only get a dime for the others. You lost any yet?" Foster felt humiliated by his teeth. "Not exactly _lost_ them," he admitted. "But they're so loose, I can kind of wave them with my tongue." "I got new ones coming in already," Davey boasted, stretching his mouth so Foster could have the experience of viewing two tiny scallopings of white just showing at the gum. Foster felt betrayed not only by his teeth but also by his pockets: they were entirely empty because he had put on the newly laundered jeans his mother had laid out for him. By evening, though, he knew those pockets would have tenants. The next things Davey produced were a sort of lariat made of rubber bands, a long chain made of paper clips, a penny that had been run over by a train, a paper puncher, and last of all, carefully folded, a drawing, which he spread out on the table. It was large and brightly colored. "How's that for a moon rocket!" demanded Davey with pride. "I drew it in school." "Wow," Foster said politely. Actually he did not think much of it and was certain he had often drawn better ones himself. But he had not seen his friend in a long time. There began to be sounds of people stirring overhead. The two boys looked up. "Soon it will be breakfast," Foster said. "And after breakfast, you know what? We're going to go and see the house we bought. We bought a house, Dave, you know that? It's the old one you saw with the suit of armor in it!" "Oh, I know _that_," Davey said. "Your aunt told me. She told me about a hundred years ago already." So far it had definitely been Davey's morning. * * * * *