“I’ve heard cows cough.”
“Well, they don’t whistle softly to theirselves. Leastwise, I never ’eard a cow do it. You might.”
“No, I never did. What did she whistle?”
“I don’t know the tune,” replied Tom, “but it was a whistle all right. Lie low, there’s some people comin’.”
“Don’t breathe!” said Dave, in Tom’s ear. “I can ’ear ’em. It’s somebody talking.”
“They’re comin’ this way,” muttered Tom. “Keep quiet, can’t yer! Yer rootin’ in them dry leaves like a wild pig.”
“I’m not; it’s you,” protested Dave.
“It ain’t me,” denied Tom, sotto voce; “it’s you. You’re makin’ enough row to wake the dead, blarst yer!”
“I ain’t!” said Dave, indignantly. “I ain’t.”
“Shut up!” hissed Tom in his pal’s ear. “They’re comin’ right this way.”