“Oh, well, you try it, then,” said Dick, tossing the pencil to Chub.
“I knew you’d have to come to me in the end,” said Chub. “Now let me see.”
“No funny business,” warned Roy. Chub shook his head. At that moment the silence, which had been disturbed only by the puffing of a distant steamer, was suddenly rudely shattered by a discordant sound that was like something between the finished efforts of a fish peddler and the wail of a bereaved cow.
“Tell Dick to stop snoring,” said Chub without looking up from his task.
“What the dickens is that?” marvelled Roy, as the sound again reached them, apparently from some distance down the river.
“Blamed if I know!” said Dick.
“It’s a cow,” said Chub. “She’s in great pain.”
“A cow!” jeered Dick.
“Certainly. Cows eat too much nice green grass at this time of year and have the tummy ache. I know. We used to own one.”