“I don’t l-like his looks. He’s too dummed g-g-good-natured.”
“But what’s it all about?”
“How do I know?” he says, impatient. “I got to find out what these letters and figgers mean, hain’t I? Then maybe I can sort of git an idee what he’s thrashin’ around for.”
He got up and stuffed both pieces of paper into his pocket.
“Let’s finish exploring and g-git back,” says he. “I’m beginnin’ to g-g-git hungry.”
CHAPTER III
When we got home Uncle Hieronymous was laying flat on his back by the side of the stream, with his eyes shut and the pleasantest smile on his face. He looked like everything he wanted in the world had walked right up and sat down in his lap. When he heard us coming he sat up and sort of wriggled his eyes to get them wide open, and made a funny motion at us with his hands. Then, right off, he made up a leetle poem:
“Here they come with tired feet,
Mosquiter-bites, and a wish to eat.”
He got up slow, kind of one piece of him at a time, it looked, and then said: