THE THIRD HOUSE
Pee-wee collapsed like a balloon. “Snailsdale Manor?” he gasped. “Are you sure he counted right?”
“Absolutely,” said Fuller, cheerily. “We’re in luck; we’re going to have our fun at rock bottom rates. That’s better than last summer, Ray. Fifteen dollars each was it? So far all is well, if not better. Cut rate adventure is my middle name.”
“It’s better than I expected,” said Ray, apparently not the least surprised or disappointed.
“We should not be carried away by our good fortune,” said Fuller; “things may go wrong yet.”
“What do you mean, go wrong yet?” Pee-wee thundered. “They did already, didn’t they? Gee whiz, I’ve been to Snailsdale Manor. What are we going to do when we get there? It’s a town! I’d like to know what we’re going to do there.”
“Shoot wildcats and send post cards down to the farm,” said Ray. “You might take a snapshot of the post office.”
“We can never get lost,” Pee-wee enunciated despairingly.
“We can have a lot of fun not getting lost,” said Ray.
“Absolutely,” said Fuller.