“It was somethin’ hairy and warm—and it moved,” said Walky hoarsely. “My soul! ye oughter heard Job tell about it. Make yer hair stand right up on end!”
“You’re making ours stand out like the quills on the fretful porcupine, Mr. Dexter,” interposed Nelson.
“Did the bear bite him?” demanded Marty, too impatient to wait longer for the dénouement.
“No,” said Walky, shaking his head, and preternaturally grave.
“No? What kind of a bear was that?” asked the boy, in disgust.
“You reckless boy!” cried Janice. “You wouldn’t want the bear to bite the poor man, would you?”
“Wal——”
“Go on, do, Walky!” urged the girl, eagerly. “Why didn’t it bite him, as Marty wants to know?”
“Didn’t have no teeth,” chuckled Walky.
“What?” was the chorused expression of his listeners.