Snoopie hangs on at the rear.
The driver says “Gid-dap!” Somebody replies with “Whoa!” “Whoa-oa!” supplement a score of voices. To frantic encouragement descends the hill, scurrying as if from Indians or bears, a belated, last Bible-class couple.
“Gid-dap!” once more urges the driver.
The ’bus moves. You yawn. Hen yawns. You are tired and sticky. Hen, also, is tired and sticky.
“Lookee!” bids Snoopie.
He throws away his dead snake; his pockets are empty again.
Yet in the depth of the aftermath you brighten. Your thoughts travel ahead. The Presbyterians are to have their picnic next week!
“You goin’?” asks Hen.
“You bet!” you reply confidently.