“Sure,” I said, “we’re going to sit down. Ask me another one.”
CHAPTER VIII
PLANS OF CAMPAIGN
Gee whiz, I can be sober when I have to. I could see all right enough that we had a chance to do something big. I wasn’t going to start fooling about it. I knew if old Mr. Bagley’s last will was in that chasm and we could find it, oh boy, there would be some excitement. His son would get all that land that Temple Camp wanted and he would sell it to Mr. Temple. You can see where we would fit in—oh boy! Talk about good turns!
“There are only two things bothering me,” I said.
“There are six things bothering me,” Dub said, “and all of them when are we going to eat and if so, what?”
“Those are the same twenty things that are bothering me,” Sandy said.
I said, “Pee-wee can’t even speak, he’s starving to death.”
All of a sudden the kid piped up, “The reason I don’t speak is because I’m disgusted—”
“Good,” I said, “I hope you’ll be disgusted for the rest of your life.”
“If I kept on going around with you I’d be disgusted twice at the same time,” he said.