"Did you see them?" Pee-wee whispered, all excited.
"Sure," I said; "two men."
They were lying on the top of the car, right close against a big, long thing like a boiler. It was much bigger than the thing on our car. One was lying on one side of it, and the other one on the opposite side. The reason I shut the light off in such a hurry was because I didn't want them to know they were seen.
"Are they train robbers?" Pee-wee whispered to me. "Are they highwaymen?"
"They're high enough to be highwaymen," I told him.
"Maybe they're bandits, hey?" he said.
"I hope so, for your sake," I told him. "I hope they're a couple of pirates, but I guess they're only tramps. Come on, let's go down."
We dangled the movie apparatus down and the fellows took it in through the window. Then they came out on the platform and helped the kid and me down. That was a pretty hard job, believe me. Just as we [got] our feet on terra what d'ye call it.—I mean terra cotta[A]—that Latin for platform—anyway, you know what I mean—as soon as we got our two feet (I mean four feet) on the platform, the two men with lanterns had just reached it.
One of the men said, "What's all this? What are you doing here, anyway? Who are you?" Gee whiz, it sounded like an examination paper.
Whenever we get mixed up with grown-up people it's usually me—I mean I—that has to do the talking. Pee-wee usually helps though. So I gave the men our regular motto.