Mighty bobs his head and screws up his face:
“I know. Tha’s the box Muley tried to assassinate me with.”
“That was eighty per cent.!” yells Chuck. “Doyuh get that? It was eighty per cent.!”
“Zas so? Fool to drop eighty per shent. Awful careless.”
“Where did you put that box you took off the stage?” I asks, pronouncing every word distinct and separate.
Mighty is so danged absent-minded that yuh got to make him remember.
“You took it out of the stage, and then what did you do with it?”
“Somebody must ’a’ stole—whoa! I know! In the woodshed. I thought I put it in the barn. Ain’ that the limit? Mus’ go and turn poor old Muley loosh. Yes, sir. He never stole nothing.”
“That’s right,” applauds Chuck. “Go right over and tell the sheriff to turn him loose.”
“I got to shee Ricky firsht,” states the old pelican, wise as a barn owl. “Mus’ shee if Ricky wants to hold him for stealing that eighty per shent. Mighty Jones is law-abiding pershon. Know what I mean?”