“Heap glad doggee no killee,” said he, at last, pointing his hook-nailed forefinger at Shot, who was at a safe distance from him. “Heap glad Melican boy no lose doggee!”
And detesting as he did the whole canine species, how could the simple Celestial have said anything to give stronger proof of his gratitude to Kirke?
CHAPTER V
OFF FOR NEW YORK
“Seems’s if Europe time wouldn’t ever, ever come,” complained Weezy again and again. For it was settled now that they were to go in June at the beginning of the summer vacation.
The golf cape for the bisque Araminta had long been finished, and Weezy having nothing in particular to do spent hours in watching the hands of the clock.
“They go creep, creep, creepmouse, just as slow as ever they can,” she said to Kirke one morning. “Can’t you put some of that oil on them? I ’spect that would make them turn ’round quicker.”
Kirke was in the yard cleaning his wheel, and Weezy on the doorstep dividing her attention between him and the hall clock behind her.
“Don’t look at the hands for five minutes, Weezy. See if that doesn’t make them travel faster,” returned Kirke, setting down his little oil-can with a knowing smile. “How would you like it yourself to have anybody staring at you every second?”
Weezy laughed. It was pleasant to have Kirke at home again. For weeks he had spent half his time out of school hours at the ranch, for of course he must see that well finished. After quite a long illness, Yeck Wo had recovered and come to the aid of Sing Wung, who could drill hard pan well enough, but would not light another fuse.
“It will never do to trust Sing Wung with gunpowder again,” Mr. Keith had said in confidence to the boys; “he is too excitable, he loses his head.”