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Extra info for Dancing After Hours: Stories
I turned around just in time to see—you’ve guessed right—Avery teetering back and forth, trying hard to regain his balance. But you could see he was losing out. Finally, with a shout for help he slipped off the log, still grabbing for a hold that wasn’t there, and fell with a big splash right into the crik. For a moment I thought I heard the crik giggling—but I guess it was just a gurgle as Avery slipped under and then came up again. The water was only past his knees when he finally struggled to a standing position, but deep or not, it had thoroughly soaked Avery.
Wouldn’t help none for him to slip behind a bush and change. What he already had on was just as dry as anything we pulled out of his pack. Surprisingly, Avery hadn’t said one word since he dragged himself out of the crik and stood shivering on the shore. Willie reached in his own pack and came up with some dry clothes. “You’d better get outta your wet things before you catch a chill,” he said, and without comment Avery took the dry clothes and headed behind a nearby scrub bush. ” I whispered to Willie when I thought Avery was out of earshot.
We need pans for cooking—a fryin’ pan and a kettle of some kind,” cut in Willie to keep things from getting out of hand. ” shouted Avery in a burst of inspiration. We all gave him looks of appreciation. Matches at a campsite we would need all right. Our list continued on to the back of the sheet, and before I knew it Mrs. Berry was calling Jack in for supper and the rest of us realized we’d better be getting home to our suppers, too. Avery and I left Jack’s yard on the run. Willie trotted off the other direction.