"It'll take you a year. Look at how your wheels wobble." And George added, somewhat oddly: "Wish I was going."
"If it'll take us a year, you might as well wait and come on with your own folks later," reminded Harry. "You'll probably travel in style, and pass us."
"That's right," hopefully answered George. "We'll pass you during the summer. You see if we don't."
"Said the hare to the tortoise," gibed Harry. "Terry and Jenny and Duke and I may be slow, but we're powerful sure—if our wheels keep turning."
He picked up a tar-pot and a stick, and stepped to the cart, on which the hood at last had been stretched.
"What you going to do now?"
"Don't hurry me," drawled Harry. "This isn't a hurry outfit." On the canvas he drew a letter. "What's that, Virgie?"
"'P'!"
"Right. And what's this?"
"'I'!"