"Go 'long!"
"Yes, sir, pie," said Franklin firmly.
Curly leaned back on the bed upon his elbow, respectful but very incredulous.
"Our cook made a pie, onct," said he, to show himself also a man of worldly experience. "That was down on the Cimarron, 'bout four years ago. We et it. I have et worse pie 'n that, an' I have et better. But I never did git a chance to eat all the pie I wanted, not in my whole life. Was you sayin' I'm in on this here pie?"
"Certainly you are. You wait. It'll be done now pretty soon," said
Franklin.
"If ye can poke a straw into thim, they're done," said Battersleigh oracularly. "Curly, hand me the broom."
Curly passed over the broom, and the two, with anxiety not unmixed with cynicism, watched Battersleigh as he made several ineffectual attempts to penetrate the armour of the pie.
"Stop lookin' at me like a brace o' evil-minded hyenies," protested Battersleigh. "Ye'd make the devil himself nervous, a-reghardin' one so like a object o' suspicion. Mind ye, I'm goin' to take it out. There's nothin' at all whativver in that ijee of stickin' it with a straw. Moreover, these straws is shameful."
The others watched him eagerly as he removed the hot tin from the oven and set it upon the bare table.
"I'm thinkin' it looks a bit dumpish midships, Ned," said Battersleigh dubiously. "But there's one thing shure, ye'll find all the apples in it, for I've watched the stove door meself, and there's been no possibility fer them to escape. And of course ye'll not forgit that the apples is the main thing in an apple pie. The crust is merely a secondary matter." Battersleigh said this in an airy manner which disarmed criticism. Curly drew his clasp knife from his pocket and cut into the portion assigned to him. Franklin was reserved, but Curly attained enthusiasm at the second bite.