Roy Blakeley by Percy Keese Fitzhugh
page 49 of 165 (29%)
page 49 of 165 (29%)
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"Don't you care," Pee-wee said to me, "he'll think of a way." Oh, jiminy,
but he was proud of Wig. I could see that Wig was thinking and for just a few seconds it seemed as if he couldn't make up his mind what to do. "Can you smudge it?" Connie Bennett asked. "Guess so," he said, "you fellows rip open the ends of these cushions, but don't tear the covering any, and somebody get the stove cleared out; see if there's a damper in the pipe, and see if there's any bilge under the flooring. It'll take those fellows about twenty minutes to chug up to Bridgeboro." Well, in two seconds he had us all Hying every which way, Elks, Silver Foxes and all. We didn't have to open more than one of the seat cushions and, lucky thing, we found it full of excelsior. That makes a good smudge. "Only you've got to treat it," Wig said. "Treat it!" I said; "I'll treat it to all the ice cream it can eat, if it'll only help you to send the message." I was feeling good now. "Take it down in the bilge and treat it," he said, very sober like, to one of his patrol. "Don't let it spend a cent," I called after him. But I didn't go because I could see he would rather have Ravens help him. You can't blame him for that. In about half a minute they came upstairs and they had a lot of the excelsior all damp, but not exactly |
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