“Yes, and it sounds nice in the handbook too. But did you ever try it?” I asked him. “Don’t talk to me. Tell my patrol that my last thoughts were of them. Tell Westy Martin he can have my dessert at dinner; tell him to think of me while he’s eating.”
All of a sudden somebody shouted, “A sail! A sail! A sail on the horizon!”
“Same old horizon,” I said. “What kind of a sale is it now?”
All of a sudden up jumped Pee-wee. “Good turns are like chickens,” he said.
“Don’t talk about chickens,” I told him; “have a heart.”
“They come home to roast,” he said.
“When we haven’t any matches?” I said. “That’s very kind of them. Can’t you let me die in peace?”
“It’s the Italian with the donkey,” he said; “the donkey we pulled off the railroad track with the gas engine, and he’s smoking a pipe——”
“Who? The donkey?” I asked him.
“The man,” Pee-wee said; “so he must have matches. Hurrah!”