“What’s risky?” inquired Scoop. [[42]]
“Leaving the talking frog without a guard.”
“You’re right,” considered Scoop. He fished some matches out of his pocket. “We’ll draw cuts,” he said, getting the matches ready. “The short-match drawer will be the guard.”
“That’s fair enough,” said Tom, drawing.
I drew next, hoping that I would be lucky. I didn’t want to miss the fun of going to the ravine.
Peg got the short match.
“I almost wish,” he said, making a wry face, “that I had kept my mouth shut.”
Scoop laughed.
“We’ll be back by twelve o’clock. So be sure and have dinner ready for us and don’t burn the coffee.”
We started off, three abreast. But we hadn’t gone very far along the country road before we came to a horse and buggy, drawn up in the shade of a high hedge. It was the ricketiest buggy I ever set eyes on. The wheels were warped out of true. They made the buggy look as though it had a bad case of bowlegs. The leather top was cracked and shrunken out of shape.