"Hurry up about it, too, Max," sang out Steve. "We want the show to begin. It's cold down here, believe me."
"Oh, it'll be warm enough," declared the owner of the cabin, "if that onary little beast turns this way after he crawls out of the window. And I'll advise you all to give him plenty of room."
"We will, thank you," the others sang out in a chorus. "Oh, you skunk, we like you—at a distance! Go ahead, Max, fix him!"
Having dropped the weeds Jim had selected down the flue, Max only waited until the black smoke began to pour out.
Then he quickly clapped a board Jim happened to own over the top.
"That ends my part of the work here," he called out, crawling over to the side of the cabin where he could have an unobstructed view.
Heads appeared around the corners of the structure, but no soul was venturesome enough to dare show himself in plain view.
And so they waited to see what the result of the bright plan would be. Already smoke was oozing out of the opening on the side, and it did not seem possible that anything but a salamander could stand the stifling fumes much longer.