"You give that back here, or I'll murder yuh!" a full-throated young voice cried hoarsely.
"Here, quit yore kickin'!" Bill admonished.
"Go on, Bud; the boys have got to hear it—it's rich!"
"Yeh—shut up, Johnny! Po'try is wrote to be read—go on, Bud. Start 'er over again. I never got to hear half of it on account of Johnny's cussin'. Go on—I got him chewin' on my hat now. Read 'er from the start-off."
"The best is yet to come," Bill gloated pantingly, while he held the author's legs much as he would hold down a yearling. "All set, Bud—let 'er go!"
Whereupon Bud cleared his throat and began again, rolling the words out sonorously, so that Mary V heard every word distinctly:
"'Before I die, I'll ride the sky;
I'll part the clouds like foam.
I'll brand each star with the Rolling R,
And lead the Great Bear home.'"
"Say, that's swell!" a little fellow they called Curley interjected. "By gosh, that's darned good po'try! I never knowed Johnny could—"
He was frowned into silence by the reader, who went on exuberantly, the lines punctuated by profane gurgles from the author.
"Now this here," Bud paused to explain, "was c'lab'rated on by Mary V. The first line was wrote by our 'steemed young friend an' skyrider poet, but the balance is in Mary V's handwritin'. And I claim she's some poet! Quit cussin' and listen, Johnny; yo' all never heard this 'un, and I'll gamble on it: