"Going to be good?"
"Look, here, Fletch—don't you wash my face, don't you—"
"Going to be good?" asked John again.
His answer was a wrench for freedom. Thud, came a soft mass down on Bill's nose and open mouth. He spluttered and rolled over desperately, trying to throw John from his vantage point. The front door creaked, and an alien voice called,
"What's the matter, you boys? Ain't you ever going to get finished?"
They rose sheepishly to find the servant smiling down at them from the doorway.
"Missis says, 'hurry up,'" she cautioned them.
Silvey picked up his shovel and began to make the snow fly industriously. Presently the fit of ardor wore off, and he stared thoughtfully at the long stretch of walk which still remained between the front porch and the back yard.
"How much did I say we'd do this for?" he asked.