The whistling noise might easily have been interpreted to mean a cry of pain, but the heat was so great that doubtless death was instantaneous, and there was something in what the boy said in reply to Dexter’s protests.
“Get out! It don’t hurt ’em much.”
“But you might have killed them first.”
“How was I to kill ’em first?” snarled Bob, as he sat tailor fashion and poked the cray-fish into warmer places with a piece of burning stick.
“Stuck your knife into them.”
“Well, wouldn’t that have hurt ’em just as much?”
“Let them die before you cooked them.”
“That would hurt ’em ever so much more, and took ever so much longer.”
“Well I shan’t like to eat them,” said Dexter.
“More for me, then. I say! don’t they smell good?”