“Git—app, git—app
Till papa comes home,”
they started singing. Warde Hollister was as bad as any of them, if not worse.
“Have a heart,” I said. “Stop! What is this? A life on the ocean wave or a bee-line hike?”
“Rock-a-bye baby
On the tree top,”
they all went on. Honest, that patrol is the limit. I’d like to sell it second-hand and get a new one.
“Listen to the ghosts up there,” Westy said. “This old wheel sounds like a nineteen-sixteen Ford.”
I said, “You’ll look like a nineteen-sixteen Ford in a minute if you don’t let up. Take that phonograph horn off my head,” I said to Pee-wee; “or I’ll throw it out of the car.”
Pee-wee started yelling through it, “Only ten cents a ride on the haunted ferris-wheel. A—ll aboard! Only a dime, ten cents!”
We were all shaking, and our heads were wobbling and we were wiping our feet all over each other and the kid was shouting through his crazy megaphone, and I was just going to pull it away from him and throw it out of the car, when all of a sudden he dropped it and whispered, “Look—look! Up there! Look, quick!”