Thad stopped for a minute’s breathing spell.
“I think both of you are wrong there,” he remarked, “and if Bumpus did only happen to come on his own trail, after we’d passed along, the chances are he’d just make up his mind to sit down, and wait for us to come around again.”
“You don’t say?” exclaimed Step Hen.
“How in the wide world would Bumpus ever guess it was us made the tracks?” Giraffe demanded, incredulously.
“He wouldn’t have to guess, because he’d know!” Thad ventured.
“You must believe that fat chum of ours is waking up, Thad? Just tell us, will you now, how he’d be so dead sure of this? We haven’t been dropping our visiting cards along the way, that I saw,” and Step Hen gave Giraffe a sly wink.
“Well, we have, right along,” Thad continued, “and unless I’m much mistaken, Bumpus can read the signs all right. He knows what kind of an imprint your shoes make, Step Hen, and how there’s a bunch of nails shaped like a star in both of your heels. Look down there, and you’ll notice them.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered if there ain’t!” muttered the surprised Step Hen, as if the fact was quite new to him.
“And Giraffe, he also knows that you ‘toe in’ with your right foot, so that each time you step it makes a little peculiar scrape. Bend down and I’ll show you, here, and here, and here. Catch on to it, now, Giraffe?”
“Well, I never knew that before; but it’s a fact, Thad, I do turn that foot some, I admit. Tried to break off the habit lots of times, but it’s no use.”