“I don't hear anything.” Percy came up panting.
“Of course not, when you're puffing like a grampus.”
“What's a grampus?” asked Percy irritably.
“I don't know,” said Joel honestly.
“Well, I wouldn't say words I didn't know what they meant,” said Percy in a patronizing tone, and trying not to realize that he was very hot.
“Well, do keep still, will you!” roared Joel. “There, there it is again.” He stooped down, and peered within a hedge. “Something's crying in here.”
“You'll get your eyes scratched out, most likely, by an old, cross cat,” suggested Percy.
Joel, who cared very little for that or any warning, was now on his knees. “Oh whickets!” he exclaimed, dragging out a small yellow dog, who, instead of struggling, wormed himself all up against his rescuer, whining pitifully.
“He's hurt,” declared Joel, tossing back his stubby locks, and patting the dog, who stopped whining, and licked him all over, as much of his face and hands as he could reach.
“Oh, that dirty thing—faugh! How can you, Joel Pepper!” cried Percy in distress.