“Sure! You’ll find it the greatest sport in the world.”
“But I don’t want to—I won’t, either. Goodness, is that fat boy asleep?”
It looked suspiciously like it.
Dave was seated on the top step, with his back resting comfortably against the door.
From the ancient stable came the steady and monotonous buzzing of a gasoline motor, while the stamping of bronchos tethered in the rear of the ranch-house could now and then be heard.
“Wake up, Dave!” called out Bob.
“I feel like giving him a good shake.” Willie looked almost as though he intended to carry out such a proceeding. “He’s as bad as Cran—needs enough ginger to stock a grocery. You’re a bunch of softies—every one o’ you. I won’t stay out here.”
“You’ll have to,” said Cranny.
“I will, hey? Then I’ll become a kid-puncher, beginning with Mr. Clifton.”
“Here comes Jed, to take the little chap back,” interrupted Tom. “Hello, Jed, old boy!”