“What?” I whispered up at him. My mind was all tangled up with mixed-up ideas.
Poetry’s whisper back in my car was, “Let’s take a look at the invisible-ink map. I just dreamed there was another line running off in a different direction. Let’s hold a hot flashlight down real close to it and see if there is.”
I didn’t want to wake up—or rather, I did want to go back to sleep again, but Poetry kept on whispering excitedly about his dream, so I reached over to my shirt which I had hung on my camp chair close by, and ran my hand into the pocket where I had had the map. Say, I hadn’t any sooner got my hand inside than a very scared feeling woke me up quicker’n anything, on account of the map wasn’t in the pocket. “Hey!” I whispered to Poetry, “it’s not in my pocket!”
8
“SURE it is,” Poetry said. “It’s got to be!”
“But it’s not!” I said, more wide awake than I usually am when I am wide awake. I must have made a lot of excited noise ’cause right away Dragonfly stopped snoring, sneezed a couple of times, and wanted to know what was going on, and why.
“Nothing,” my fat goat said to him. “We’re just looking for something.”
“Well, for—! Look with your eyes instead of your voices,” Dragonfly said, “I’m allergic to—kerchew!—to—kerchew!—to NOISE!”
“It’s your own snoring that woke you up,” Poetry said to my Man Friday. “Now go back to sleep.”