We hauled him out but it didn’t do any good.
“Roll him up the aisle,” I said.
We tried that and it didn’t do any good.
“You get hold of his legs,” Westy said, “and I’ll get hold of his neck and we’ll swing him like a hammock.”
“That only rocks him to sleep more,” I said. “There’s nothing to do but wait for the next earthquake.”
“That may be a hundred years,” Westy said. “Maybe when we move the car across Willow Place he’ll wake up. We’ll tell Mr. Jenson to give it a good hard bump.”
“That will be next Saturday,” I said. “Maybe if the kid were only awake he could invent a way to wake himself up.”
“Let’s try once more,” I said. “Scouts never give up.”
“They never wake up, you mean,” Westy said.
“You don’t call this a scout, do you?” I asked him. “If he is he ought to be in the dormouse patrol. They’re always supposed to be asleep.”