“As regards that there pup,” says Babe, continuing the clapboarded conversation, “we complained that he was all over the place and—”
“Now he’s all over us,” states Boots, combing a few more fine fragments of dog-hash out of his hair.
“I’d say we’ve had about enough of being helped by this here obliging well-wisher, wouldn’t you?” says Babe.
“Abso—” says Boots.
“—lutely!” says Babe.
“I’ve run plum out of hospi—” says Boots.
“—tality!” says Babe. “What we ought to do is take a gun and kill him good—”
“—and dead!” says Boots.
But they didn’t go that far. They make it plain to him though, when he gets back, that the welcome is all petered out and he takes the hint and pikes out for town, leaving those two still sorting what’s left of their house-keeping junk out of the wreckage.