Then vol-lup bank-an' la-a-and--"

"So will this la-and," Johnny said viciously and threw one of his new
riding boots straight at the warbler. "For gosh sake, lay off that
stuff!"

Tex caught the boot dexterously without interrupting his song, except
that he forgot the words and sang ta-da-da-da to the end of the verse.

"Po'try was wrote to be read," he replied sententiously when he had
finished. "And tunes was made to be sung. And yo' all oughta be proud to
death at the way yo' all made a hit with yore po'try. It beats what Mary
V wrote, Skyrider. If yo' all want to know my honest opinion, Mary V's
plumb sore because yo' all made up po'try about Venus instid of about
her." He sat down on a corner of the littered table and began to roll a
cigarette, jerking his head towards the bungalow and lowering one eyelid
slowly. "Girls, I'm plumb next to 'em, Skyrider. I growed up with four of
'em. Mary V loves that there Venus stuff, and kissin' her snow-white
hand, same as a cat loves snow. Jealous--that's what's bitin' Mary V."

Johnny was sorting letters, mostly circulars and "follow up" letters
from various aviation schools. He looked up suspiciously at Tex, but Tex
manifested none of the symptoms of sly "kidding." Tex was smoking
meditatively and gazing absently at Johnny's suitcase.

"Yo' all ain't quittin'?" Tex roused himself to ask. "Not over a little
josh? Say, you're layin' yoreself wide open to more of the same. Yo' all
wants to take it the way it's meant, Skyrider. Listen here, boy, if yo'
all wants to git away from the ranch right now, why don't yo' all speak
for to stay at Sinkhole camp? Yo' all could have mo' time to write po'try