“Yes, Wallace,” said he. “Yes, yes, here he is. I see his eyes.”
Wallace sat very composedly upon his horse, holding Phonny’s bridle, while Phonny was uttering these exclamations, without appearing to share the enthusiasm which Phonny felt, at all.
“He is here, Wallace,” said Phonny. “He is, truly.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Wallace, “but what are we to do about it?”
“Why—why—what would you do?” asked Phonny.
“I suppose that the best thing that we could do,” said Wallace, “is to ride along.”
“And leave the squirrel?” said Phonny, in a tone of surprise.
“Yes,” said Wallace. “I don’t see any thing else that we can do.”
“Why, he will gnaw out,” said Phonny. “He will gnaw out in half an hour. He has gnawed half through the board already. Espy ought to have tinned his trap.” So saying, Phonny stooped down and peeped into the trap again, through the crack under the lid.
“Who is Espy?” asked Wallace.