“Gee! It don't lack much of being a dish rag, now, if I'm any judge. Now! Great Scott!” He held it at arm's length and regarded it derisively.
“Well, it was new two years ago,” explained Chip, making an ineffectual grab at it.
Cal threw it to him and came and sat down upon his heels to peer over Chip's arm at the magazine.
“How's the old maid doctor?” asked Jack Bates, leaning against the door while he rolled a cigarette.
“Scared plum to death. I left the remains in the Old Man's arms.”
“Was she scared, honest?” Cal left off studying the “Types of Fair Women.”
“What did she say when we broke loose?” Jack drew a match sharply along a log.
“Nothing. Well, yes, she said 'Are they going to H-A-N-G that man?'” Chip's voice quavered the words in a shrill falsetto.
“The deuce she did!” Jack indulged in a gratified laugh.
“What did she say when you put the creams under the whip, up there? I don't suppose the old girl is wise to the fact that you saved her neck right then—but you sure did. You done yourself proud, Splinter.” Cal patted Chip's knee approvingly.