"About forty-two cents' worth," I told him.
"That won't keep us alive for one day," he said.
"Are you thinking about lunch already?" I asked him. "You should worry about lunch. All we have to do is to send a telegram to Bridgeboro and Mr. Temple will have another freight pick us up. We can be back there by to-night. I don't know where we are, but if we got here in one night, we can get back in one day, can't we? Anybody that knows anything about geometry can tell that. You should worry, we won't starve."
"What'll you say in the telegram?" he wanted to know.
"Lost, strayed or stolen. Tag, you're it. Come and find us. How would that do?" I asked him. "We'll send it in your handwriting, then they'll know who it's from."
Good night, you should have seen that kid. He jumped up on one of the seats and began shouting, "Do you think I'm a quitter? Do you think I'm going to send and ask anybody to take me home?"
"You're a raving Raven," Westy began, laughing.
"Do you think a raving Raven—I'm not a raving Raven," Pee-wee just yelled, he was so excited; "you think you're funny, don't you? Do you think I'm a big baby?"
"Not so very big," Connie said.
Pee-wee just stood there, yelling at us, "If you want to send word home, go ahead. You admit yourself you're somewhere—don't you?"