“Tom,” said Douglas, “just promise me one thing, okay?”

“It’s a promise. What?”

“You may be my brother and maybe I hate you sometimes, but stick around, all right?”

“You mean you’ll let me follow you and the older guys when you go on hikes?”

“Well…sure…even that. What I mean is, don’t go away, huh? Don’t let any cars run over you or fall off a cliff.”

“I should say not! Whatta you think I am, anyway?”

“‘Cause if worst comes to worst, and both of us are real old — say forty or forty-five some day — we can own a gold mine out West and sit there smoking corn silk and growing beards.”

“Growing beards! Boy!”

“Like I say, you stick around and don’t let nothing happen.”

“You can depend on me,” said Tom.

“It’s not you I worry about,” said Douglas. “It’s the way God runs the world.”

Tom thought for a moment.

“He’s alright, Doug,” said Tom. “He tries.”