“I don’t know, Tonal’.”
To make matters more exasperating, at that moment the rod began to bend and the reel to spin jerkily.
“A fush!” exclaimed Donald.
“Looks like it,” returned his friend drily.
“I better gee a yell an’ wauken him,” suggested Donald.
“Ye’d better no’,” said Junkie, shaking his fist.
“Yonder iss the end o’ yer bonnet stickin’ oot o’ his pooch, what-ë-ver,” said Donald.
“You’d better lie low an’ keep still,” said Junkie; and, without further explanation of his intentions, he went softly down the bank and crept towards the sleeper, taking advantage of every stone and root and bush as he went along. Really, for a first attempt, it was worthy of the child of a Pawnee brave.
MacRummle was a heavy sleeper, so Junkie had no difficulty in recovering his cap. Putting it on, he returned the way he had come.
“That wass cliver, man,” said the admiring Donald, when his friend rejoined him.