“Plumdum! Florence!” she screamed, gathering the dog in her arms and being in turn gathered in by Florence.
It was only over a rich “Mulligan” stew prepared by Captain Frey’s cook that Tony’s story was told.
“I saw you go down,” he said to Florence. “An’ heard yer breath go out. I thought, ‘That moose will get her fer sure.’”
“And so he would have,” Captain Frey agreed. “A moose has hoofs that are like steel chisels.”
“So-o,” Tony breathed, continuing his story, “I dropped on his back. Swell luck. I grabbed his antlers. Then I ducked down to miss the branches. And say-ee!” he breathed. “Talk about speed! He was worse’n an airplane.
“And then—” he paused.
“Then what, ye dummie?” Mike demanded.
“It ain’t nice. I hate t’ tell ye.” Tony took in a long breath.
“Did he go toward the dry swamp?” Florence asked. Tony nodded.
“Then I know,” the girl said with a shudder, “the moose went into the peat bog that’s on fire.”