“Why ain’t he?” demanded Dan.
“Because he’s got to cross the river—the river—what do they call it?—the river Poles,” said Sneak.
“Styx, you dunce,” said Joe.
“Well, ’twas only a slip of the tongue—what’s the difference between poles and sticks?”
“You never read any thing about it; you only heard somebody say so,” said Joe, pausing to listen to the hounds that ever and anon yelped in the vicinity.
“If I didn’t, I don’t believe the man that wrote that book ever crossed, or even had a squint at the river himself,” replied Sneak.
“Whereabouts is the river?” asked Dan.
“In the lower regions,” said Joe, striking his spade against a hard substance.
“What’s that you’re scraping the dirt off of?” asked Sneak.
“Oh, my goodness!” cried Joe, leaping out of the grave.