“I bet you don't!” exclaimed Maurice. “What'd you do in winter?”
“What?”
“What you goin' to do when it's winter, out in a hammock with water sprinkled on top o' you all day? I bet you——”
“I'd stay right there,” Sam declared, with strong conviction, blinking as he looked out through the open doors at the dazzling lawn and trees, trembling in the heat. “They couldn't sprinkle too much for ME!”
“It'd make icicles all over you, and——”
“I wish it would,” said Sam. “I'd eat 'em up.”
“And it'd snow on you——”
“Yay! I'd swaller it as fast as it'd come down. I wish I had a BARREL o' snow right now. I wish this whole barn was full of it. I wish they wasn't anything in the whole world except just good ole snow.”
Penrod and Herman rose and went out to the hydrant, where they drank long and ardently. Sam was still talking about snow when they returned.
“No, I wouldn't just roll in it. I'd stick it all round inside my clo'es, and fill my hat. No, I'd freeze a big pile of it all hard, and I'd roll her out flat and then I'd carry her down to some ole tailor's and have him make me a SUIT out of her, and——”