Bu-lieve me, Helen Blazes, I'm wise. You're wishing a goat would get
lost--now, while the moon's workin' steady!"
"Oh, beat it, Vic! I've got work to do, if you haven't." And to prove it,
Helen May began to type at her best speed.
Vic languidly removed himself from the door jamb and with a parting "I
should bibble," started back to his goats, which he had refused to graze
outside the Basin as Holman Sommers advised. Helen May began valiantly to
struggle with the fine, symmetrical, but almost unreadable chirography of
the man of many words. She succeeded in transcribing the human polyp
properly lithified and correctly constituting the strata of the
psychozoic age, when Vic stuck his head in at the door again.
"From the des-urt he comes to thee-ee-ee,
And he's got a dog for thee to see-ee."
He paraphrased mockingly, going down to that terrifically deep-sea bass
note of a boy whose voice is changing.
Helen May threw her eraser at him and missed. It went hurtling out into
the yard and struck Starr on the point of the jaw, as he was riding up to
the cabin.
Whereat Vic gave a brazenly exultant whoop and rushed off to his goats,
bellowing raucously:
"When you wore a too-lup, a sweet yellow too-lup
'N I wore a big red ro-o-ose--"
and looking back frequently in a half curious, half wistful way.
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