The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light.
Ben stopped nibbling his apple.
Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth-stepped back to note the effect-added a touch here and there-criticised the effect again-Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed.
Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No-no-I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben.
You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence-right here on the street, you know-but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she wouldn't.