“What’s the time, anyhow?” asked Porky. He answered his own question by fishing his wrist watch out of his pocket. He had put it there for fear the luminous dial might be seen.
“Only eleven,” he said. “Plenty of time.” He sat staring into the darkness. There were very few flares now, although the night was usually kept bright with them.
“Wonder why that is,” Porky said.
“Something to do with our little mud house, don’t you think so?” said Beany.
“Yes, I do,” answered his brother. “I wish I could make it out. Give us time, give us time!”
“Well, come on! I want to get some one on the job,” said Beany. “I feel fidgety.”
“Sit still,” said Porky. “I want to think.”
“What you got in your head now?” said Beany. His voice sounded anxious.
“We are going to take those men prisoners with our own little wrenches and just by our two selves.”
“Three of them?” gasped Beany.