“They are tolerable hot,” says Mark, with an uncomfortable grin. “But I guess so long as Motu wants to mind his own b-business pretty strict, we’d better do the same. He knows what he’s up to.”
We got back to the hotel in a little while, but nobody else was there. We looked for Motu all over, but couldn’t find hide or hair of him. I guess as soon as we got out of sight he went and hid up. But it wasn’t long before Binney and Plunk came rampaging in, panting like a couple of grampuses, with their eyes bulging out and talk just spilling out of them in bunches. They both wanted to talk, and neither of them could manage it.
“Back there—” says Binney, and stopped to pant.
“We ’most bumped into—” says Plunk, and he stopped to puff.
“Lucky we was goin’ cautious—” Binney says.
“Or,” says Plunk, “nobody knows what—”
“They’d ’a’ got us sure,” says Binney.
“S-sit down,” says Mark, “and breathe a couple of breaths and drink a dipper of water. Maybe by that time you’ll both ’light. You’re f-floppin’ around like scared chickens.”
“You’d be a scared chicken if you’d bumped into what we did,” snapped Plunk.
“Yes, sir,” says Binney. “Why, before we suspected a thing we almost stepped on ’em.”