I asks Magpie that night if we’re supposed to give up our bunk to Ajax, but Magpie gives me one look which is plenty of answers. Anyway Ajax didn’t desire it.
“Professor Middleton told me of the wonders of sleeping under the glorious firmament,” says Ajax, “and I desire to experience it as he described.”
“Fairly well ventilated,” says Magpie. “Nice enough unless she rains or a hipwiggler comes along.”
“Who is ‘she,’ and what is a hipwiggler, if I may ask?”
“She?”
Magpie smooths his mustache and scowls at the ground.
“Oh, yes; the hipwiggler. The hipwiggler is a animal. If one comes along and finds you sleeping on the ground it just plumb ruins you for future use. You’re dead—that’s about all.”
“Your—er—friend you spoke about,” says Ajax. “Was he sleeping on——”
“Uh-huh. A log saved his life. It’s thisaway, Ajax: A hipwiggler is a queer animal. It always prospects a man from his head down to his toes. It gets to the end of you and then starts eating its way back. Sabe?
“Dirty Shirt went to sleep with his feet on a log. The hipwiggler comes along, walks to where it strikes the ground and then starts eating. It ain’t got no sabe—not a bit. This one didn’t sabe that Dirty had his feet on a log; so it went to the end of the log and starts eating. Logs ain’t noways digestible, so it got disgusted and left Dirty alone.”