the arguing part of the game, Verman's impediment cooperated with a native amiability to render him far less effective than in the actual combat. He chuckled, and ceded the point.
“Aw wi,” he said, and cheerfully followed his captor to a hidden place among some bushes in the front yard, where Penrod lurked.
“Looky what I got!” Sam said importantly, pushing his captive into this retreat. “NOW, I guess you won't say I'm not so much use any more! Squat down, Verman, so's they can't see you if they're huntin' for us. That's one o' the rules—honest. You got to squat when we tell you to.”
Verman was agreeable. He squatted, and then began to laugh uproariously.
“Stop that noise!” Penrod commanded. “You want to betray us? What you laughin' at?”
“Ep mack im mimmup,” Verman giggled.
“What's he mean?” Sam asked.
Penrod was more familiar with Verman's utterance, and he interpreted.
“He says they'll get him back in a minute.”
“No, they won't. I'd just like to see—”
“Yes, they will, too,” Penrod said. “They'll get him back for the main and simple reason we can't stay here all day, can we? And they'd find us anyhow, if we tried to. There's so many of 'em against just us two, they can run in and touch him soon as they get up to us—and then HE'LL be after us again and—”
“Listen here!” Sam interrupted. “Why can't we put some REAL bonds on him? We could put bonds on his wrists and around his legs—we could put 'em all over him, easy as nothin'. Then we could gag him—”
“No, we can't,” said Penrod. “We can't, for the main and simple reason we haven't got any rope or anything to make the bonds with, have we? I wish we had some o' that stuff they give sick people. THEN, I bet they wouldn't get him back so soon!”
“Sick people?” Sam repeated, not comprehending.
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