“What’s your idea, Grover?” asked Mr. Hope.
“Sounds as much like a snake as anything I can imagine, Sam.”
“So say I,” agreed Mr. Ellison.
“Are we right, interpreter?” Potts got the correct word, for once.
Roger hesitated. Not that he cared if he lost his reputation as a young person able to read correctly what his sensitive ears caught; Roger was not vain or self-satisfied. He was not the sort to make a statement just to hold up his reputation.
In some ways the sound might be such as a snake, with its hide striking or rubbing, as it hissed, could make; but, again, a lizard might make that sound—or a dog, scratching on a window.
He stood up, excited for the moment.
“Claws on glass!”
His sharp cry died into silence. They all considered it.
“A snake ain’t got pedicular exuberances,” objected Potts.