“That would suit us to a T,” Mr. Warren said.
“I thought of it,” Pee-wee shouted. “Then we can come up there and visit you. I’ll be up every day.”
“Have a heart,” I said. “Do you call that a good turn?”
Mr. Warren said, “If they’re kind enough to let us stay and camp in this odd little house you may be sure the funny-bone hikers will always be welcome.”
“You bet they will,” two or three of those fellows chimed in.
“Set us down anywhere you choose,” Mr. Warren said.
Hervey said, “You don’t have to spend much time in your shack. The Catskill Mountains are big enough for anybody.”
“Except you,” I said. “If you follow him,” I told those fellows, “you’ll land on the island of Yap.”
Hervey didn’t say anything, he just started singing, and going zigzag in the road; I guess maybe he was trying to make the horses do that, too. He sang the whole song, and before he was finished every fellow there was singing and imitating all his motions.
Gee whiz, I can just see him now, the way he reached up and grabbed branches and hopped on the stones and threw his hat up in the air and swung it on a stick and walked lame and with his eyes shut, never looking back at all just as if he didn’t care whether we were there or not. Reckless, kind of; you know how he is.