“Too late, just now, Rivers. That hell of a time they’re having over there keeps peaceful folks to their own waters.”
“Sometimes”––Larry grew moody––“I’ve thought I’d like to tumble into that mess and either–––”
“What?” Abruptly Maclin caught Rivers up.
“Oh! go under or––come to the top.” This was to laugh––so both men laughed.
Laughing and talking in undertones, they came to the dark shack and Larry, irritated at his inability to drop Maclin, unlocked the door and went in, followed by his unwelcome guest.
“What in thunder do you lock this old rookery up for?” Maclin asked, stumbling over a chair.
“I’ve got a notion lately that folks peep and pry. I’ve seen footprints around the house.”
“Well, why shouldn’t they pry and tramp about? The Point’s getting dippy. And that blasted gun of Twombley’s! See here, Rivers!”
By this time Larry had lighted the smelly lamp and closed the door and locked it.