“What you talkin' about?”
“Well, why can't you wait till I tell you?” Penrod's tone had become peevish. For that matter, so had Sam's; they were developing one of the little differences, or quarrels, that composed the very texture of their friendship.
“Well, why don't you tell me, then?”
“Well, how can I?” Penrod demanded. “You keep talkin' every minute.”
“I'm not talkin' NOW, am I?” Sam protested. “You can tell me NOW, can't you? I'm not talk—”
“You are, too!” Penrod shouted. “You talk all the time! You—”
He was interrupted by Whitey's peculiar cough. Both boys jumped and forgot their argument.
“He means he wants some more to eat, I bet,” said Sam.
“Well, if he does, he's got to wait,” Penrod declared. “We got to get the most important thing of all fixed up first.”
“What's that, Penrod?”