“I'm goin' to be right here,” Penrod answered reassuringly. “He won't kick or anything, and it isn't goin' to take you half a second to slip around behind him to the other stall.”
“What makes you think he won't kick?”
“Well, I KNOW he won't, and, besides, you could hit him with the shovel if he tried to. Anyhow, I'll be right here, won't I?”
“I don't care where you are,” Sam said earnestly. “What difference would that make if he ki—”
“Why, you were goin' right in the stall,” Penrod reminded him. “When he first came in, you were goin' to take the rake and—”
“I don't care if I was,” Sam declared. “I was excited then.”
“Well, you can get excited now, can't you?” his friend urged. “You can just as easy get—”
He was interrupted by a shout from Sam, who was keeping his eye upon Whitey throughout the discussion.
“Look! Looky there!” And undoubtedly renewing his excitement, Sam pointed at the long, gaunt head beyond the manger. It was disappearing from view. “Look!” Sam shouted. “He's layin' down!”
“Well, then,” said Penrod, “I guess he's goin' to take a nap. If he wants to lay down without waitin' for us to get the sawdust fixed for him, that's his lookout, not ours.”