We walked around to the front of the hotel and sat down on the porch. Mark was tossing the dollar up and catching it, and all of us were thinking about it, I expect.
“I guess we’ll have to lock everything up if we want to keep it,” says Plunk.
“It’ll be better to l-l-lock up the fellow that’s doing the sneakin’,” says Mark.
“’Tain’t so easy,” says I. “If he ain’t easy to see I don’t guess he’ll be easy to catch.”
“And,” says Binney, “it might not be so much fun catchin’ him—with his club and that big dagger.”
“That sounds sensible,” says I. “Let’s try to get a look at him before we do anything else. Then—maybe we’ll want to move.”
“Move!” says Mark Tidd, his forehead getting wrinkled and his jaw shoving out. “You can d-do as you want to about that, but I stay. We’ve a right to be here. The other fellow hasn’t any right. I d-don’t care if he’s b-b-big as a house and savage as a Hot-Hot-Hot—” He stuttered over that word and just couldn’t get it out.
“Hot cross bun,” says I.
Mark paid no attention, but went on stuttering, “Hot-Hot-Hotten-tut-tut-tot.”
“And that’s the way we spell Hottentot,” says I.