“Give it up, Shadow.”
“He said, ‘Say, missus, please save it fer me, 139 won’t yer? I won’t eat fer a week, honest, an’ then I’ll come an’ finish it all up fer yer!’”
“Good for the street-boy!”
“Say, Phil, you won’t have to save anything for me! I’ll eat my share right now!”
“I’ve been in training for this feed!”
“Shove the horses along, Horsehair; we don’t want the soup to get cold.”
“I’m a-shovin’ ’em along,” answered the carryall driver. “We’ll git there in plenty o’ time.”
“Say, Phil, as far as I am concerned, you can have this affair pulled off once a month,” remarked Buster.
“Make it once a week,” piped in Chip Macklin. And then Luke Watson commenced to sing a popular negro ditty and all joined lustily in the chorus.
On and on rattled the carryall until the lights of Oakdale shone in the distance. The boys continued to sing, while one or two blew freely on the tin horns they carried. Here and there somebody would come rushing to a window, or door, to learn what was doing.