“Shall we get Pee-wee?” he said.
“Good night!” I shouted. “If we spring that on Pee-wee he’ll drop dead; he’ll drop so dead that he’ll even be dead and buried.”
“It’s a good kind of a hike,” said Hervey, “because it takes you a long way.”
“Oh, positively,” I told him; “it takes you even further than that. How did you ever think of it?”
He said, “Well, after the big fuss last night I went to bed.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I asked him.
“And I thought of it while I was lying in bed,” he said. “If we could follow the West Shore tracks till we get to the point where they come together we would probably find a lot of wrecks and skeletons and things piled up, and maybe a lot of gold. Let’s start along the West Shore tracks this afternoon and make a solemn vow that we won’t turn back till we reach the point.”
“That ought to be quite a stroll,” I said. “We’ll stop in Albany for supper, hey?”
Hervey said, “I had an inspiration.”
“You’d better look out,” I told him; “Pee-wee has all those copyrighted.”