He had got his money by a higher form of burglary that did not require a knowledge of lock picking. Nor as a boy had he been one to play at mechanics. He had let other boys make the toy fluttermills and the wooden traps and the like, and then he had traded for them. He was sorry now that he hadn't given more heed to the mechanical side of things when he was growing up.
"Jeff makes us fluttermills out of corn-stalks, and he learned us taught us, I mean to call a brickbat an alley-apple, and he can make his ears wiggle just like a rabbit and everything. Don't you, Jeff? I mean, can't you, Jeff?" "Ah, I see," said the fabulist with a wink aside for Jeff's benefit.
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