"Their spatulate feet are meant for digging," the Captain took up the tale. [Another spasm.]
"Their bandy legs enabled them to throw the dirt out behind them—as they ran," suggested Tommy.
"If only they could have had a badger they'd have beaten all records!" we chorused.
And then finally we wiped our eyes and remembered that there used to be a 'coon. At the same time we became conscious of a most unholy row in the offing: the voice of Mithradates Antikamia.
"If you people want your 'coon," he was remarking in a staccato and exasperated voice, "you'd better come and lend a hand. I can't manage him alone! The blame thing has bitten me in three places already. Of course, I like to see people have a good time, and I hope you won't curtail your enjoyment on my account; but if you've had quite enough of those made-in-Germany imitations, perhaps you'll just stroll over and see what one good American-built DOG can do!"
CHAPTER XI
IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE
Uncle Jim had friends everywhere. Continually we were pulling up by one of the tiny two-roomed shacks wherein dwelt the small settlers. The houses were always of new boards, unpainted, perched on four-by-fours, in the middle of bare ground, perhaps surrounded by young poplars or cottonwoods, but more likely fully exposed to the sun. A trifling open shed protected a battered buggy on the thills and wheels of which perched numerous chickens. A rough corral and windmill completed the arrangements. Near the house was usually a small patch of alfalfa. Farther out the owner was engaged in the strenuous occupation of brushing and breaking a virgin country.