Then the red-hot cigarette-tips scorched Ken's skin. Ken kept pointing and accompanying his directions with wild gestures and exclamations.
"Here.... Oo-oo! Here.... Wow! Here.... Ouch!--that one stung! Here.... Augh! Say, can't you hurry? Here! ... Oh! that one was in a mile! Here.... Hold on! You're burning a hole in me! ... George, you're having fun out of this. Pepe gets two to your one."
"He's been popping ticks all his life," was George's reasonable protest.
"Hurry!" cried Ken, in desperation. "George, if you monkey round--fool over this job--I'll--I'll punch you good."
All this trying time Hal Ward sat on a log and watched the proceedings with great interest and humor. Sometimes he smiled, at others he laughed, and yet again he burst out into uproarious mirth.
"George, he wouldn't punch anybody," said Hal. "I tell you he's all in. He hasn't any nerve left. It's a chance of your life. You'll never get another. He's been bossing you around. Pay him up. Make him holler. Why, what's a few little ticks? Wouldn't phase me! But Ken Ward's such a delicate, fine-skinned, sensitive, girly kind of a boy! He's too nice to be bitten by bugs. Oh dear, yes, yes! ... Ken, why don't you show courage?"
Ken shook his fist at Hal.
"All right," said Ken, grimly. "Have all the fun you can. Because I'll get even with you."
Hal relapsed into silence, and Ken began to believe he had intimidated his brother. But he soon realized how foolish it was to suppose such a thing. Hal had only been working his fertile brain.
"George, here's a little verse for the occasion," said Hal.