“I ain’t got nothin’ to bet, and I don’t care what he c’n do! Why won’t our folks get Madmallet’s letter, Josh?” “’Cause I won’t let ’em, that’s why. Don’t ye know who Madmallet’ll send home with that letter?” “O’ course--ole Slinky Dawson, teacher’s pet.” “Course it’ll be Slinky Dawson. An’ that’s just why I’m hangin’ out here in this ole lot. Won’t ole Slinky hafta cross this lot on the way to our house? An’ we’ll be hidin’ here, an’ when he comes along we’ll scare the stuffin’ outa him. I’ll tell ’im that if he takes that letter to our folks I’ll knock the waddin’ outa him. Say, he’ll be scared to death, Les. You leave that little mamma’s boy to your Uncle Josh--I’ll fix his ole clock! C’m’on, now--bet ye anythin’ ye wanta bet this here ole slug c’n walk from one end to the other o’ this ole razor blade an’ not cut ’imself a little bit. C’m’on, Les--be a sport! What’s the use actin’ like you are--that don’t get you nothin’!” Lester rubbed the tears from his eyes with a dirty wrist and, encouraged by the positive tone in his brother’s promises, allowed his curiosity to arise over the possibilities of a razor-walking slug. He went close to Joshua and squatted beside him, but, remembering his loss of a short time before, refused to bet against another sure-thing nature game. And in wonder he watched his brother take up the slug and place the open razor, edge up, on the ground. Then Joshua put the slug on the handle of the razor and prodded it along until it crawled to the keen edge. Here it tried to go sidewise and reach the ground, but with a small stick Joshua kept it to the course. And along the keen edge the slow creature made its way, adding to the thrills of its brief terrestrial day. “Gosh, Joshua! Ain’t it cuttin’ ’im?” “Don’t see any blood, do you?” “Uh-uh!” “Ye wouldn’t either, I guess. Ain’t no blood in ’em, I’m thinkin’. But he ain’t drippin’ _anything_, is he? He’s got insides, ain’t he? There’d be somethin’ to drip if he was gettin’ cut, wouldn’t they?” “Uh-huh. But ain’t it hurtin’ ’im at all, Josh?” “Course not, rummy! There he goes off on the ground. Now watch while I turn ’im over, kid. You won’t see a ole cut or anything.” And when Joshua’s gently prodding stick had laid the long-suffering mollusk on its back its belly showed none the worse for the experience. “Josh, how’d he stay on?” “I can’t tell ye that. But I’ll know some day. Then come ’round and ast me.” “And why’n’t it cut ’im?” “Can’t tell that either--but sometime I will.” “How ye gonta ever tell, Josh?” “I don’t know. There’s a lotta things I gotta find out, kid. There’s books an’ things that’ll tell ye all about things like that. I’m gonta get the names of ’em sometime. Now what’ll we do till ole Slinky Dawson comes along with Madmallet’s letter to the folks?” CHAPTER III THE GIRL AT THE CRESCENT