"With forks."
"And say grace."
"With our faces in our plates."
"We have school every day," went on Gato, sinking deeper and deeper into despair.
"Do we; well, I guess! 'Do you ssee dde hhett? Yiss, I ssee dde hhett. How menny hhetts do you ssee? I ssee ttin hhetts. Oh, look at de moon, she is shining up there. I loof de name of Wash-ing-ton, I loof my coon-tree, too'—ah, it makes me sick!" And Gomez spit upon the ground.
"Gomez, Gomez; we must do something!"
"Go ahead"—graciously.
"Gomez"—hopefully—"let's chop off her head!"
"You can't"—gloomily.
"Good Lord, Gomez; don't you think, with my best bolo, very well sharpened, if we hit hard, very hard, that maybe——"