“Ye’ve got to do more than that afore I asks the docther not to p’int his gun this way and pull the trigger.”
“Have yer ever seed the devil?”
“Not afore I looked upon yersilf.”
“Then how do yer expict me to describe him? He was there right under the canoe and almost close enough to grab us.”
“Did he hev horns and a spiked tail?”
Mike had heard the sound of footsteps behind him on the leaves. Some one was approaching and he was sure it was Hoke Butler coming back to his help.
Biggs made no reply to the frivolous question of the youth seated above him. The taint of superstition in his nature resented such treatment of a theme which had nothing but terror to him. Mike, certain that he commanded the situation and was about to learn that which he yearned to know, felt that he need not haste.
“Ye’ll hev to do better than that, Signor Biggs, but as ye saam to prefer that the docther should take ye in hand I’ll turn ye over to him.”
And Mike turned to wink at Hoke Butler, but to his dismay, discovered in the same moment that his friend was not in sight, and the one who had come up behind him was Saxy Hutt, the other tramp.