“Say,” grunted Browning, speaking in Merriwell’s ear, “if those chaps escape from the woods alive it will be a marvel. Somebody will surely shoot them as curiosities, and have them mounted.”
“The only thing that will save them is the fact that it is close time,” laughed Frank.
The man with a bunch of whiskers on his chin laughed hoarsely and derisively, turned a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and then spit a great squirt of tobacco juice upon one of Archie’s handsome russet hunting boots. Then, with his hands in his pockets, he slowly strolled out of the office, leaving Elmer gasping for breath.
“Oh, the wude w’etch!” cried the dude, angrily. “Just see, Cholly, what the nawsty cwecher did!”
“By Jawve!” fluttered Cholly; “that was a terriwble inthult, deah boy! I would have satisfaction, Awchie.”
“I will!” panted the owner of the rifle. “I’ll have it wight away.”
“Good gwacious!” exclaimed Cholly, hastily rising, while his face turned pale. “What desperwate thing awe you going to do, Awchie?”
“I—I’m going to—to tell that w’etch that he is no gentleman!” shouted Elmer, as he hastily followed the man from the office.
“Oh, Awchie is such a desperwate man!” came from the other, as he dropped back on the chair.