"Wind's just right for the kelp," struck in Poke.
"There'll be stacks of it," Moke exclaimed.
"And we're going!" Poke continued.
That was the way they usually did an errand or told a story,—one giving one fragment of a sentence, and his brother the next, if, indeed, they didn't both speak together.
They ended with a proposition. Their father had gone to Portland with the team; and if Mr. Bucklin would let Perce take his tip-cart and yoke of steers, they would go with him, and all the sea-weed gathered by the three should be shared equally by the two farmers.
"And what we want is——" said Moke.
"To start after an early supper this evening," said Poke.
"Camp to-night at the beach," Moke added.
"And be on hand to begin work——" Poke added, contributing his link to the conversational chain.
"As soon as the tide turns in the morning," rattled both together.