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Show Anting Alone Page 307 move for couple days until it digested one or t'other of them two harboil eggs that you fed it, you know? You remember?" "Does a fat dog fart?" "Well, all right. Hold that inside of your brain while I tell you your hint. Now, Spikey. Your cousin Polly, she was always such a egghead, wasn't she? Always borrowing everybody's trike or bike so she could make it to the Bookmobile before it left the courthouse parkin lot? Just a egghead, right?" "Egghead." "And my Sammy, he always did like his words long and snakey-like." Spikey sometimes wasn't nearly as stupid as everybody who knew him said he was all the time. His little red eyes lit up and his voice got all squeaky from being squeezed by his overdeveloped neck muscles, which he was squinching up from being excited now, and he went, "That cake-soaker, he's probally the Intruder-guy the cops've seen creeping around up there!" It wasn't every day old Sergeant Spikewell J. Wamsutter figured out a hint all by his own self. (Well, okay, half-figured: he got everything right but the Intruder part, but that wasn't important.) He got all proud of himself and frisky and happy and hard-faced like in the pictures they took of him when he was a gy-rene before the Eyeranians captured him. He jumped forward, all the way out of the shadows, like he wanted to make out with her or something. She caught another full look at his Hitler brooches. She couldn't help reacting; she couldn't help the training she received from all the liberal democrat college professors. Once again she went, "Eeeew, for sick'ning! Gag me with a spoon! German pins!" |