“Let the woodpile worry,” said Townsend. “Got supper ready?”
“It’s—it’s just beginning to steam,” said Pee-wee; “look out you don’t run over it. It’s going to be dandy, Townsend, it’s all nice and thick, with lots of carrots; I made it, Townsend.”
“Whooaa, Liz,” said Townsend as the beloved companion of their long journey came to a full stop and appeared to shake itself like a dog emerging from the water. “Say ‘I’m hungry,’ Liz.” The Ford emitted three uncanny syllables which sounded not unlike those plaintive words. “That Slade fellow seems to be the big boss around here, doesn’t he?” said Townsend stepping down. “Well, here I am, or here we are, I should say. It seems you can’t lose me, kid. First I was going to walk up and then I said, no, Liz belongs in this outfit. Can you accommodate the two of us, kid? Slade bet me I couldn’t make it. Why it’s like the Lincoln Highway, kid. Did you hear Liz laughing?”
For almost the first time in the history of his loquacious career Pee-wee Harris could not speak. Liz was looking at him with one bent up cross eye and in its light Townsend Ripley, his unknown guest indeed, saw that the eyes of his travelling companion were glistening.
“Can’t lose us, kid,” said Townsend.
But Pee-wee said nothing, and in the glare of that funny headlight all askew Townsend could see that the eyes of his young friend glistened more and more.
That is the funny part of it, that Pee-wee Harris did not speak.