“Gee whiz, I like it better than any other place, that’s sure,” said Pee-wee.
“We’re the inventors of that time and place,” said Fuller.
“I invented lots of things,” Pee-wee said. “I invented that float.”
Westover was some distance by the road, but not so far through the woods and across fields. It was on the main line and was quite a little town. It was not exactly a world centre but, as I said, its station facilities afforded good possibilities in the particular kind of lottery in which Ray and Fuller were interested.
“Who’s going to ask?” Pee-wee inquired, his excitement and expectation mounting.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Ray.
“Shall we say eenie, meenie, minee, mo?” suggested Fuller.
These magic words seemed to be their means of determining everything. “Those four words are better than the four points of the compass,” Fuller explained; “because on a compass one way is right so the other three must be wrong. A compass is always three-quarters wrong. See?”
“Sure it is,” said Pee-wee.
“But those four words are all right; one is as right as another.”