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Hammett counted the money, and McGivney stuck it into his pocket, and then he commanded Peter to put on his shoe again. Peter obeyed with his trembling fingers, meantime keeping his eye in part on the revolver and in part on the face of the rat. "W-w-what's the matter, Mr. McGivney?" "You'll find out in time," was the answer.
Nor did she rouse from her reverie till somebody close at hand demanded: "I-I-I say! W-w-what's that?" Instantly upon her feet she faced the intruder, vainly trying to hide with her short skirts the glittering casket, as she demanded, in return: "How dare you come upon a person that way? Why you might have frightened me into a fit. I don't like to be scared." "Oh, f-f-fudge!
Say, won't my kids go crazy when they hear that I've actually met up with that lively bunch of scouts." "W-w-what's all this mean, mister?" asked Bumpus, actually trembling, not with fear any longer, but actual delight to hear himself mentioned in this familiar way by a stranger.
He bounded forward and put his shoulder to the mouldering door. It fell inward with a dull crash and as it did so the professor leaped backward with a startled cry, stumbling over a deck beam and sprawling in a heap. "W-w-what's the matter?" gasped Harry, with a queer feeling at the back of his scalp and down his spine.
It really made it much harder for Peter to get awake, because he couldn't believe that he was awake; also it made it harder for McGivney to get any sense out of him, because his jaw hung down, and he stared with terrified eyes into the muzzle of the revolver. "M-m-my God, Mr. McGivney! w-w-what's the matter?" "Get up here!" hissed the rat-faced man, and he added a vile name.
"W-W-What's that b-boat?" he asked. He was looking straight ahead. Both Spike and I looked under the boom and saw the sail of a yacht about a mile away. She was headed directly for us. "Oh, some boat, or other," said Spike, nibbling at a jam-covered cracker, which Spook had fixed for him. "L-L-Let's ch-change our c-course a b-bit, she m-may be f-full of p-p-persons with pup-pup-pitchforks."
"That's all right," said Bandy-legs, "but if the silly has gone and waded deeper than he meant to, why don't he just turn around and walk out again?" "Because he can't!" Max told him, still running. "Hey! w-w-what's hindering him!" stammered Toby, thrilled by this new mystery that had so suddenly dawned upon them.
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