“I been thinkin’.”
“That ain’t no reason for wakin’ me up.”
“This is a silly thing we’re a-doin’,” I says.
That made him sit up sudden, for if there was anything he hated it was to look silly, or to do anything foolish and get caught at it. I don’t know what he wouldn’t have done to keep folks from laughing at him, or from getting into a scrape that made him look ridiculous.
“What’s silly about it?”
“The hull thing,” says I, “from A to Izzard.”
He puckered up his face and his eyes got squinty, like they always do when he’s mad. “If you want to back out,” he snaps, “go ahead.”
“I don’t look like backin’ out, do I?”
“What’s the matter, then?”
“Oh,” says I, “the hull idee of it. Ain’t it sort of reedic’lous for you and me, a couple of kids, and Sammy, a half-witted Injun, comin’ up here to git the best of three growed men, and one of ’em from Pittsburg? Why,” says I, “them men forgit more from breakfast till dinner than all of us know put together.”