Townsend took another from his pocket and sitting up threw it so it fell just short of the window.
“You did that on purpose,” roared Pee-wee.
“I’m so weak from hunger that I can’t throw,” said Townsend. “Wait till I’ve had a little nourishment and I’ll try again. Let’s talk about the relay race. No, let’s tell Ford stories. Why is a—”
“You throw that banana up here, do you hear!” Pee-wee fairly screamed, glaring down like a frowning judge from his high rostrum, his face decorated with vivid smudges, his scowl terrible to behold.
“Why is this Ford like a stew?” Townsend asked. “Do you give it up?”
“You give that banana up,” shouted Pee-wee. “No fooling—now! Here comes an automobile along the road; now maybe you’ll get arrested for blocking up the road with that big gate and it’ll serve you right.”
“Here you go,” laughed Townsend, throwing the banana so that it struck the round countenance of our hero. “What kind of a car is it, a roadster or a two seater?”
“It’s a roadster,” said Pee-wee, studying it with the glass. “I think it’s a Buick.”
“Inspector’s car probably,” said Townsend languidly.
“You’d better get up,” Pee-wee said.