“No, he ain’t! You watch, Les! Now! Look at ’im!”
And lo and behold again, a thin stream of slime came from a gland at the rear end of the pitiful creature, and it descended slowly, head down, reeling out its rope of mucus as it went.
Lester Cole watched in boyish awe as the poor earthling drew nearer and nearer to the ground, the string of mucus ever lengthening above it.
“I wouldn’t think it ud hold ’im,” he marveled.
And then the slug reached the earth and began slowly assuming a horizontal position.
“Lift ’im up again, Josh,” suggested Lester.
“No,” said Joshua, dropping the chip. “That wouldn’t be fair. You lose, kid!”—and he scraped into his hand an assortment of “glassies” and “chinies.” “C’m’on—we gotta be gettin’ there!”
Side by side the brothers ran toward the schoolhouse.
“You oughtn’t to’ve stayed, Les,” puffed Joshua.
“An’ how ’bout you?” Lester retorted.