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Updated: May 29, 2025
Some one was shooting at them, and the guide was going to fire back. This was more than they had expected when they visited the home of the cave-dweller. "Let me take a crack at 'em," begged Chunky. "I owe 'em one." "Master Stacy, you will do nothing of the sort," reproved the Professor sternly. "The idea!" "No; if there's any shooting to be done I'll do it," announced Kris Kringle.
In front of them were four people who could have been the shipping clerk for a hardware house, his fiancée, who presided conceivably over a switchboard in some uptown hotel, a gentleman who looked like a college professor and who was probably night clerk in a drug store, and lastly a chunky and well-fed person who, from his turning at once to the cotton reports, could probably be put down as holding some responsible position in a Wall Street house.
"Looks to me like a wish bone," interjected Ned. "Do you eat wish bones, Chunky?" "Might, if I were hungry enough." "A divining rod is used to locate springs. Some users of it have been very successful. I couldn't find a lake with it, even if I fell in first." "Indeed," marveled the Professor. "I have heard of the remarkable work of divining rods. What Rind of wood is it?" "This is hazel wood.
The flimsy pile of brush and vines, after the fire had burned away its foundations, gave way beneath the weight of the stones. Coffee pot, coffee and stones went down with a crash and a clatter. "Save the coffee pot!" shouted Ned, giving Chunky a push. "Save it yourself. I'm not the cook," answered the fat boy, who chanced to be nearest to the fire. "I told you something was going to happen."
Chunky brought it out, the old man examining it critically, nodding his head over some thought of his own. "Bigger cats on Tacker's mountain," he grunted. "Want to sell it?" Chunky shook his head. "Huh!" exclaimed the old man, rising and starting away. "What's your hurry, sir?" asked the Professor politely. "Must shut up the pigs.
There was a sudden shuffle of feet on the pavement, a quick movement on the part of the Kid, a chunky sound as of wood striking wood, and the man Psmith had been addressing fell to the ground in a heap. As he fell, something dropped from his hand on to the pavement with a bump and a rattle. Stooping swiftly, the Kid picked it up, and handed it to Psmith. His fingers closed upon it.
"Do you?" asked the stout youth. "Sure, Chunky." "Then, maybe you'll quit making fun of me," was Bob's answer, as, from one of the lockers he drew out a bulky package. "What is it?" asked Jerry. "Sandwiches and cake. I bought 'em in the little booth where we had chocolate with Mr. Blowitz the other day. I thought we might be hungry, so I got 'em while you were tinkering with the engine.
What will you do?" asked Tad. "Do? Do? What do you think I am going to do?" "Knowing you as I do, I should say you would go on as we have planned," answered Butler laughingly. "Exactly! If that man thinks he can frighten us out of our course he will find that he has made a grave mistake." "Why didn't you punch him when you had the chance?" demanded Chunky.
Tad!" cried Chunky in sudden alarm, now realizing that he was alone. "Whe where are you?" "H-h-h-h-e-r-e!" "W-w-where?" "H-h-h-holding to the b-r-r-oncho's t-tail." "Wow!" howled Stacy, as, turning in the saddle, he discovered his companion being fairly jerked through the air, holding fast to the pony's tail, the lad's feet hardly touching the ground at all.
"I've heard tell," said Long Jim, who also contemplated the prodigy, "that big, chunky, awkward-lookin' things are sometimes ez spry ez you. They say that the Hipperpotamus kin outrun the giraffe across the sands uv Afriky, an' I know from pussonal experience that the bigger an' clumsier a b'ar is the faster he kin make you scoot fur your life.
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