“Wreck it fast,” he screeched in Poppy’s ear.
The tuner straightened.
“What?” he yelled back.
“Wreck it fast,” the old man screeched again.
“What do you want me to do,” came the greasy grin, “go at it with an axe?”
Well, I thought I’d die. For old Poppy is as funny as a yard of pickled pollywogs when he gets that crazy look on his face. Say, he’s a scream.
“Why spoil a perfectly good axe?” I yipped, to help keep up the fun.
This “axe” talk, though, didn’t jibe with the old man’s thoughts.
“No, no,” he screeched, sort of teetering around and waving his arms. “Wreck it fast. Wreck it fast.”
Poppy gave up then.