“Well then, let’s vote. You wake Billy up.”
While Paul was shaking and struggling with Worth, now angry over being thus disturbed, Phil gently tweaked Dave’s nose until he staggered to his feet, making half-blind passes at his disturber as he mumbled:
“G’way, you! I—I’ll punch your head, you—you—you—” And that was as far as he ever got.
“We’re voting to know if we go to the Falls or keep straight on,” urged Phil loudly. “What is it to be?”
Paul just then relinquishing his clutch on Billy’s nightshirt, the latter flopped back on his pillow, jerked the quilt over his head and was buried to the outer world. Phil pinched Dave’s ear until the nodding one hauled back and struck out feebly, hitting nothing and throwing himself back into the big chair’s embracing arms.
This being the dumb reply of both, Phil grinned at Paul as he half whispered:
“What do you vote, Paul? Is it straight on, leaving the Falls for another time?”
“Bet your life—that’s me! Say, Phil, I’ll tell you what I’d really like to do.” As he said this Paul drew from his pocket a crumpled, soiled bit of paper. “Here’s something I got hold of at Griffin.”
“Right here’s where we turn off to the right, according to this paper. Got it from Fobes. The Chief said he took it from Coster, who was tearing mad because Fobes got it away from him. Somewhere beyond here—don’t say where—there’s a one-horse tavern—old place, pretty well off the main track. But it’s mighty nigh one of the main railroad lines.”
While Paul was talking Phil was examining the paper, growing more interested as he went on. Now he looked up, saying: