“Well, the sooner we get about it, the sooner it’s done,” said Townsend. “The water makes you hungry, doesn’t it?”
“You said it,” said Pee-wee. “The land makes you hungry, but not so much as the water. Gee whiz, I got all sunburned.”
“Look at my arms,” said Townsend. “I’m good and tired, I know that.”
“I’m going to make rice cakes, you like those,” said Pee-wee. “We’ll find a good place in the woods to camp, hey? And I’ll fry some bacon too, hey?”
“Go as far as you like,” said Townsend; “I’ll eat anything. I could eat a bale of hay.”
“We’ll make an omelet with some egg powder too,” said Pee-wee encouraged. “We’ll have a banquet, hey? Because maybe this’ll be our last supper alone together. Maybe I’ll make hunter’s stew too!” he shouted in sudden inspiration.
“It will sure be our last supper together if you do that,” said Townsend.
But he would probably have eaten even that weird specialty of Pee-wee’s without complaint, so hungry was he. As for Pee-wee, he could have eaten the Ford with a relish.
They trudged wearily back to the village and past it toward the little garage beyond. The two miles seemed to have stretched out to an appalling length like the neck of Alice in Wonderland. They were ready to drop with each step they made. All their recent bodily exertion on the river seemed to take effect in their weary limbs and they stumbled along, dog-tired and silent.
“Don’t you care,” said Pee-wee; “we’ll start a fire and lie down and have supper—gee whiz, I can eat lying down as well as sitting up, can’t you?”