"Inspershuns?" queried Pete, suspiciously.
"Oh, it's not a dangerous disease; you'll never catch it," grinned Jack; "none of these chaps ever did."
"Speak for yourself, Jack Conroy," retorted Tom, with a touch of indignation.
"Wal, this here holler don't answer no questions," said Pete, dryly. "Mind! I ain't beggin' to go; but if ye want a corkin' guide, say the word, an' I'll drop me axe any time like it was red hot."
"Well, the fact is," began Dick, "er—er—that is—"
"Yes, that's the idea exactly," supplemented Bob. "You see, if we needed a guide, Pete, we wouldn't want any one else but you. The crowd—"
"Don't be skeered; I won't hurt ye. Jist say what ye mean; an' I kin see what that is—ye don't want none o' Pete Colliver; an' Pete Colliver ain't a-gettin' down on his knees to beg ye, nuther; no, he ain't. Jist lock yer door arter I gits out, an' fix yer peepers on that 'ere table ag'in. An'"—he paused, his little eyes snapping curiously—"if ye say the word, I'll yank that snoozer out o' his roost in jist three seconds, eh?"
This kind offer was smilingly declined.
Pete turned on his heel.
"Not going, are you?" asked Bob.