“All right,” said William the leader (upon whose stern and grimy countenance the rain had traced little channels of cleanliness) testily. “All right. My goodness, what a fuss you make about a bit of rain on your bare skin. What would you do if you was a Red Indian an’ had to be out of doors all weathers and nearly all bare skin?”
“Well, it doesn’t rain in Red Indian climits,” said Ginger. “So there! Don’t you be too clever. It doesn’t rain in Red Indian climits.”
William was nonplussed for a moment, then he summoned his fighting spirit.
“How do you know?” he said. “You ever been there? You ever been to a Red Indian climit? Well, I din’t know you’d ever been to a Red Indian climit. But I’m very int’rested to hear it. It’s very int’restin’ an’ funny you din’t get killed an’ eat, I mus’ say.”
William’s weapon of heavy sarcasm always proved rather bewildering to his friends.
“I don’ see that it matters whether I’ve been to a Red Indian climit or not,” said Ginger stoutly, “’it wun’t stop me feelin’ wet now if I had, would it?”
“Well, what would you do if you was a diver,” went on William, “’f you’re so frightened of gettin’ a bit wet? P’raps what with knowin’ so much about Red Indian climits you’ll say it’s not wet in the sea. Of course ’f you say it’s not wet in the sea we’ll all b’lieve you. Oh yes, we’ll all b’lieve you ’f you say it’s not wet in the sea. I s’pose that’s wot you’ll be sayin’ next—that it’s not wet in the sea—with knowin’ so much about Red Indian climits——”
At this moment there came a redoubled torrent of rain and turning up their sodden collars the Outlaws all ran to the old barn which was the scene of many of their activities.
“I’m s’prised to see you run like that,” said Ginger to William. “I should’ve thought you’d have liked gettin’ wet the way you talk about divers an’ Red Indians.”
William shut the door of the barn and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes.