"Do you mean to say I don' know how to march? Know how as well as you do."
"Think's likely," snarled Willy, "for I can't march if I have you to march with. Can't keep step with anybody that ain't bright!"
"Nor I can't, either, Will Parlin; that's why I can't keep step with you."
"Well, then, go along to the other side of the road—will you? I won't have you here with your hippity-hop, hippity-hop."
"Go to the other side of the road your own self, and see how you like it," retorted Fred. "I won't have you here, with your tramp, tramp, tramp."
Was ever anybody so provoking as Fred? Willy had an impulse to give him a hard push; but before he could extend his arm to do it, he had forgotten what they were quarrelling about. That strange sleepiness had drowned every other feeling, and Fred's "tramp, tramp, tramp," spoken in such drawling tones, had fairly caused his eyes to draw together.
"Guess I'll drop down here side of the road, and rest a minute," said he.
"So'll I," said Fred, always ready for a halt if not for a march.
But it was a cold night. As soon as they had thrown themselves upon the faded grass they began to feel the pinchings of the frost.
"None of your dozing yet a while," said Fred, who, though tired, was not as sleepy as Willy. "We must push along till we get to a barn or something."