The two inspectors were very domineering and self-sufficient. The power of asking questions peremptorily in rapid-fire fashion is quickly learned by detectives and such. An impression of brisk efficiency is thus produced.
Pee-wee and Townsend watched the inspectors push the gate up as far as they could, which was at an angle of about forty-five degrees, and there it stayed. There is no doubt at all that Townsend was apprehensive. As for Pee-wee, he looked down like a true knight from his tower, severe, fearless, frowning. The Italian woman made some concession to the tense situation by craning her neck. The goat preserved a calm and innocent demeanor.
“You kids want to look out how you play with crossing gates,” Inspector Ketchum said; “you want to keep your hands off such things. You’d better come down out of there,” he added, addressing Pee-wee.
“You’re so smart, let’s hear you tell me how?” shouted our young hero.
“What’s the matter with your face?” the inspector asked.
“I made ointment and put on it on account of getting stung by wasps,” said Pee-wee. “I foiled a lot of them.”
“Who’s driving that car?” the other inspector demanded.
“Nobody’s driving it just now,” said Townsend. “I was driving it.”
“Oh, you were, were you?”
“Yes, he was, was he,” shouted Pee-wee from his place of safety. “And he can make it sing, too, and say good-bye and everything, and we’re going to camp in it.”