It was some time after the key clicked in the lock and the bulky form
of the freight agent lumbered up through the pines again before Billy
stirred. Then he wriggled around through the undergrowth until he found
himself in front of the innocent looking little box covered over with
dried grass and branches. He examined it all very carefully, pried
underneath with his jack knife, discovered the spot where the wire
connected, speculated as to where it tapped the main line, prospected a
bit about the place and then on hands and knees wormed himself through
the thick growth of the mountain till he came out to the huckleberry
clump, and recovering his bicycle walked innocently up to the station
as if it were the first time that day and enquired of the surly freight
man whether a box had come for his mother.

In the first place Billy hadn't any mother, only an aunt who went out
washing and had hard times to keep a decent place for Billy to sleep
and eat, and she never had a box come by freight in her life. But the
burly one did not know that. Just what Billy Gaston did it for, perhaps
he did not quite know himself, save that the lure of hanging round a
mystery was always great. Moreover it gave him deep joy to know that he
knew something about this man that the man did not know he knew. It was
always good to know things. It was always wise to keep your mouth shut
about them when you knew them. Those were the two most prominent planks
in Billy Gaston's present platform and he stood upon them firmly.

The burly one gave Billy a brief and gruff negative to his query and
went on painting barrel labels. He was thinking of other matters, but
Billy still hung around. He had a hunch that he might be going to make
merchandise in some way of the knowledge that he had gained, so he hung
around, silently, observantly, leaning on old rusty-trusty.