He fumbled the fastenings on his coon-skin coat, tried to pull his cap lower and looked altogether unhappy.

And Charming Billy, not at ail sure that his advice would be taken or his warning heeded, stuck the spurs into his horse and set a faster pace reflecting gloomily upon the trials of being confidential adviser to one who, in a perfectly mild and good-mannered fashion, goes right along doing pretty much as he pleases.
It made him think, somehow, of Miss Bridger and the way she had forced him to take his gun with him when he had meant to leave it.

She was like Dill in that respect: nice and good-natured and smiling--only Dill smiled but seldom--and yet always managing to make you give up your own wishes.

He wished vaguely that the wanderings of Dill would bring them back to the Double-Crank country, instead of leading them always farther afield.

He did not, however, admit openly to himself that he wanted to see Miss Bridger again; yet he did permit himself to wonder if she ever played coon-can with any one else, or if she had already forgotten the game.