"—he became anxious about the condition of the rear axle and examined it so frequently that by night he had slipped back into the Stone Age—he was ossified and petrified. He could neither see, eat nor talk. Strange creatures peopled his imagination. He shot at one before we could get his gun away from him, and it was our best skillet. How the devil he could hit it is more than I know. At this moment he may be fleeing from green tigers."
"Beg pardon," murmured George. "At this moment I have my foot on his large, unwashed face."
"Why, George! You'll hurt him!" gasped Mollie.
"No such luck. He 's beyond feeling."
"But you will! It is n't right to—"
"Don't bother your head about him, Sis," interrupted Tom, savagely.
"Sure," grinned George. "Save your sympathy until he gets sober. He 'll need some then."
"Now, George, there is no use of having an argument,"
