Harry stopped the car and we all listened. “Sounds like a baby,” that’s just what he said.
“It isn’t,” I told him; “it’s a tree-toad, all right. Do you know why he calls like that? It’s to let the birds know to get out of the tree, because it belongs to him.”
“Some nerve,” Grove said.
Harry just sat there listening, awful interested like. Then he said, “Well, I suppose it belongs to him as much as to any one else. How would you like to get a shot at him?”
“He should worry,” I said; “scouts aren’t supposed to kill things.”
Harry just kind of kept humming and listening.
I said, “You’ve had a lot of adventures, that’s one sure thing, but do you like to kill things?”
“I’ve killed a lot of time in my life,” he said.
“Time isn’t alive,” Skinny piped up; “animals are alive.”
“So are trees if it comes to that,” I said.