Then, perhaps by way of conveying what he meant, Townsend arose, stretched himself, and as he lowered one of his upraised arms, gave Pee-wee’s hair a good tousling and pushed him right over backwards.
“Time to turn in, Kid,” said he.
CHAPTER XII
IN CAMP
When they awoke in the morning they heard the steady patter of rain on their little shelter. The downpour, broken by the friendly trees, fell gently on the tent, but looking out they could see that the rain was coming down in torrents. The sky was dull and cheerless.
“Rain before seven, clear before eleven,” said Pee-wee.
“Only it’s half-past eight, do you call that logic?” laughed Townsend. “I bet Liz is good and wet; I should have turned the seats upside down and tied my rain-coat over the hood. No matter. She ought to squeak fine after this. Last year I had her singing the Star Spangled Banner after a three days’ rain. What shall we do; eat?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and surveying the woods. “How’d you sleep? Some rain, hey?”
“I’m going to start a fire and make coffee,” said Pee-wee.
“Now that’s what I call a real inspiration,” said Townsend, sleepily. “I didn’t hear the alarm clock, did you?”
“There isn’t any,” said Pee-wee.