"Listen, you stupid drekky poli," he said in a conversational manner, "o'l Jack here’s our chummer. Our pal, get it?" The other boy nodded dumbly. "No, I don't think you do, poli I think I have to pound this info into your stupid, fragging brain." He grinned wickedly, then looked at me. "Better buzz now, friend Jack. Don’t wanna get blood on your boots." When a toothy little red-haired Halloweener tossed me my walking stick, I made my exit. So we are friends, the Halloweeners and I. I read to a group of them from Stoker’s Dracula every Sunday afternoon now, and I hear that two of the little sods are saving up for limb replacements.