They're here at the Gadsden Purchase.
Bell Applegate is sick--seems to be indigestion; Espalin is having
a nervous spell; and Ben Creagan is bleeding from his happiest vein.
You'd better come see to 'em. Good-by!"
Pringle smiled benevolently from the door.
"There! I almost forgot to tell you boys. We disapprove of your
actions oh-very-much! You know you were doing what was very, very
wrong--like three little mice that were playing in the barn though
the old mouse said: 'Little mice, beware! When the owl comes singing
"Too-whoo" take care!' If you do it again we shall consider it
deliberately unfriendly of you.... Well, I'll toddle my decrepit old
bones out of this. Eleven o'clock! How time has flown, to be sure!
Thank you for a pleasant evening. Good-by, George. Good-by, all! Be
good little boys--go nighty-nighty!"
They raced to the corner, scurried down the first side street, turned
again, and slowed to a gallop. Pringle was in high feather; he caroled
blithesome as he rode:
_"So those three little owls flew back up in the barn--
Inky, dinky, doodum, day!
And they said, 'Those little mice make us feel so nice and warm!'
Inky, dinky, doodum, day!
Then they all began to sing, 'Too-whit! Too-who!'
I don't think much of this song, do you?
But there's one thing about it--'tis certainly true--
Inky, dinky, doodum, day!"_
They reached the open; the gallop became a trot.
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