“Tell me something that I don’t know.”
“I hate to see you do it,” I went on. “For he might kill you. And being my best pal, I’ve got to look out for you.” [[205]]
“You needn’t worry about me,” grunted Scoop. “I know how to take care of myself.”
“But what are you going to do if he jumps at you?”
“Fight, of course.”
“If he jumps at me,” I said truthfully, “I’ll drop dead.”
“You’re trying awful hard,” Scoop grinned, “to make me think that you haven’t any grit. But I know you, ol’ timer! Come on.”
The door was unlocked. And stepping into the musty, dirty kitchen, I expected nothing else than to get a whang on the head.
Scoop dropped to his hands and knees, examining the footprints in the floor’s coating of dust.
“A man’s,” he waggled, “and all of a size. So we know the Strickers haven’t been here. Buck up, Jerry. I have the feeling that we’re going to walk out of here with the talking frog.”