“I thought,” says I, “that they made a pretty good slide for beginners.”
“’Twan’t graceful,” says Plunk. “I like to see folks slide pretty and neat. These fellers is clumsy as all-git-out.”
The three picked themselves up after they’d felt of their shins and rubbed their ribs and grunted considerable. The Man, dapper as ever, with his glass in his eye, stood scowling at them. He never looked up at us once. For a while he didn’t say anything; then he spoke in Japanese and they all went away.
“Whee!” says I. “Attack’s repulsed.”
“Huh!” Mark grunted. “It hasn’t b-b-begun yet. The Man’s got a scheme. Just wait.”
We didn’t have to wait long, for in three minutes they were back, each one of them carrying a pail—of sand.
“What’re they goin’ to do with that?” says Plunk. “Throw it in our eyes?”
“How do you stop an engine on a slippery track?” Mark asked.
“Put sand in front of the drivers,” says Plunk.
“Well,” says he, “pertend these Japanese was engines and the stairs was a t-t-track. What then?”