“Will you give me that tin thing if I tell you?”
“That isn’t a tin thing, it’s a compass, it tells you which way to go.”
“Can it talk?”
“No, it can’t talk.”
“Then how can it tell you?”
“It points its finger.”
“You’re crazy.”
“All right,” Pee-wee laughed in spite of himself. “You tell me about the man getting dead and I’ll give you the tin thing.”
“He was lying down in the bushes and wriggling.”
“Where? Near the bridge?” Pee-wee asked.