He said his name was "Coonskin," and Wisconsin the State of his nativity.
"I think he'll walk the rest of the way, Coonskin," said Pod, referring to me.
Coonskin spent the night lighting matches and hunting the pests.
Coonskin began picketing the donkeys, and promised to follow.
Next morning, to my surprise, Coonskin was the first to rise.
Suddenly what had been in Coonskin's mind all the time was revealed.
"No, not exactly," Coonskin returned as he rose from his seat.
Pod's mouth was a flame of fire, but aimed more at Coonskin than at me.
When Coonskin returned, he bore a pail of water in each hand.
As soon as my entertainers departed, Coonskin and I sought our hostess.