“You’re seeing stars,” I said; “no wonder.”
“Look!” he said. “It’s a—it’s th—th——”
“Now you see what you get from swinging too much,” I said.
“Look—athe—athe—uppp——” he stuttered. “I—sa—thbandidt——”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “No more bandits. Stop rocking, you fellows, will you; or this kid will be seeing some wild Indians.”
They didn’t pay any attention, only went on rocking the car more and more. They had been rocking so hard they couldn’t stop. Pee-wee’s jack-knife was bobbing against his belt, his compass was flopping around, his megaphone was all over our laps, and his cooking set was banging around on the floor. He was pointing up in the air the best he could and saying, “Stpthe car, stpthecar—ts—the bandit—tsthba—a—a—a—a—nt——”
The more I laughed the dizzier I got and the dizzier I got the more I laughed. They were all laughing so hard and they were all so dizzy they couldn’t speak.
“Atta—b—b—oy, kid!” one of them said.
Pee-wee was tumbling all around from one fellow’s lap to another’s and trying to talk. “Lkthba—a—a—a—a—nt——” That was about all I could make of it.