“Then I wish things would warm up while the deal is being wound up.”
“That’s always the trouble with a chap that’s got brick-red hair,” complained Ballard. “He’s a volcano, and can’t be happy unless he has a violent eruption every fifteen minutes.”
“I’ve got a notion,” scowled Clancy, “to imitate an earthquake and shake you off the porch.”
“Go on and shake,” urged Ballard, chuckling. “I’d like to get a strangle hold on an earthquake just once and make it behave.”
With a whoop the red-headed chap projected himself out of his chair and in the direction of his chum. But he never reached Ballard’s end of the porch. Merry put out a foot and neatly tripped him.
“Here, now!” protested Clancy, slamming into a porch post and grabbing it in his arms to keep from going down. “Who invited you to take a hand in this, Chip? Maybe you want me to roll you off the porch before I do business with Pink?”
“Spell ‘able,’” said Merry, squaring around in his chair.
“Too hot,” answered Clancy, after a moment’s reflection.
“Oh, slush!” muttered Ballard disgustedly. “It’s too hot now, but a moment ago he was anxious to have things warm up. He’s bluffing, that’s all.”
Clancy took no notice of the good-natured gibe, but crossed the veranda to a thermometer that hung beside the hotel door.