“Oh mercy!” said Mrs. Gamer.
“But I killed him,” Pee-wee reassured her.
“This is beginning to look good,” said Fuller Bullson; “this is more than I expected. How slow do those oxen go? We’re accustomed to three miles an hour.”
“They can go even slower than that,” Pee-wee boasted.
“Say no more, we’re with you,” said Raysor Rackette, jumping onto the fender beside Pee-wee. “How about you, Cap?” he added, rather ruffling the dignity of A. Pylor Koyn. “Will you take a chance with Good-for-nothing Manor Farm? Come ahead, be a sport. How about you ladies? How about you, Trotsky?”
“I go to diss blase anyvares to lay my head,” said Vociferinski.
“That’s the way to shout,” said Fuller; “hop up; you can’t go wrong. Help the ladies up, Ray. We can eat the shingles if there isn’t anything else there. And if you forget to stop at the house when you come to it, Scout, it won’t make any difference. We’ll just go on till we come to the next one. Step inside, Cap, yours is the seat of honor. That empty grocery box was just made for you.”
“I want to sit outside on the fender,” said Miss Pocahontas Gamer.
“You’ll fall off,” Pee-wee warned her.
“I won’t do anything of the kind,” she said; “how about yourself?”