Part 17 (2/2)

”Too much,” said Pinkey, shortly.

Wallie dropped the pan he was turning in the oven.

”They're browning beautifully,” he exclaimed hastily.

”You said that before. Ain't it gittin' time to work on 'em?”

”Remove your feet and I'll set the table.”

”Can't you spread a paper for a tablecloth? I always git splinters in my elbows when I eat off rough lumber.”

Wallie laughed good-humouredly as he obliged him.

”That's sh.o.r.e a great smell comin' from the oven! Let's eat, feller.”

”You certainly are hungry, Pinkey. If I may judge by appearances, you are not going to be disappointed. You sit down while I put things on the table.”

Pinkey needed no second invitation.

”I like spuds cooked with the clothes on,” he observed as he skinned a potato.

”I trust everything is going to be to your liking,” Wallie declared, cordially, as he drew the prairie-dogs from the oven and laid them on an agate-ware platter.

Busy with his potato, Pinkey did not see them until they were before him. Then he stopped and stared hard as they lay on their backs grinning up at him with the ”forcemeat” oozing through the st.i.tching.

”_What are they?_” His emphasis was not flattering.

”I shan't tell you yet,” declared Wallie.

Pinkey continued to eye them suspiciously.

”They kinda remind me of a mummy I seen in a side-show; then, again, they look like incubator childern--roasted. Them teeth are what git me.

I can't quite place 'em. 'Tain't wood-p.u.s.s.y or nothin', Wallie? 'Tain't no notorious animal like pole-kitty?”

Wallie looked offended.

”I intend to eat some myself,” he replied with dignity.

”Are they some kind of a varmint?” Dubiously.

”Varmint?”

”Pack-rat or weasel?”

”Scarcely!”

Wallie looked so injured that Pinkey said apologetically:

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