“Yuh,” said Hike meekly. “Well, I’ll try to do better.”
“That’s wery comfortin’, Geerawld, and so I’ll just go to sleep again.”
“You will not. You’ll help me fix the rudder.”
“Why didn’t you have the brakeman call me at our last stop, and I’d have fixed it for you. What’s the trouble? Is the doodingers cross-circuited with the bezingelum? Well, just switch on the other gallywoggs, and that will make it all right.”
“No, the trouble is,” stated Hike, very seriously, “that the bezingelum is getting charged by contact with the ornithigulus.”
“Oh, I see. Then I suppose I’ll have to stop that deep thinking I was telling you about, and show you how to fix it.”
Poodle crawled out, and sat down beside Hike. They said nothing, but stretched themselves out on the dry grass. Soon, there was a sound of deep, slow breathing. In half an hour, Hike awoke—to find that they had been asleep!
Dragging the unfortunate Poodle to the Hustle, he made him hold wires and pliers, while he tightened the fastening of the rudder. While he worked, he glanced at the valleys and mountains about them.
He exclaimed, “Gee! Say, Poodle, get your gun ready again. There’s a guy—”
“A what?”