“You b’ys comfortable up thar?” he drawled, getting sight of us in the window.
“We could use a few palm-leaf fans to good advantage,” Scoop hinted, swabbing his dripping face.
“Calc’late it’ll git cooler toward evenin’.”
“When do we eat?” Peg called down.
“Hungry, hey?”
“We haven’t had any dinner.”
“Wal, it’s too late fur dinner now.”
Scoop again gritted his teeth.
“The old beast!”
“Say,” Peg began to dicker, “what’ll you take to turn us loose?”