“No use you tryin’. You couldn’t g-git it up.”
“Git holt,” I says to Plunk. “Now, Mister What’s-your-name, where’s it go?”
“Up-stairs in the hall; but you b-b-better not try. It’s too heavy for you.”
Plunk and me took that box up-stairs a-flying and ran down again.
“There,” I says. “Now kin we carry it?”
He stuck up what there was to his nose. “One ain’t nothin’. I carried the hull twelve out when we was movin’ in fifteen mum-minutes.”
“If you did,” I says, “Plunk and me can carry ’em in in twelve.”
He just laughed.
“Doggone it,” I says, “we’ll show you, you’re so smart.”
“Can’t d-d-do it.”