"Yes it is," said Whitie Bungel.
"All right then, it is," said Pee-Wee.
"Why did you say it wasn't?"
"Oh, I don't know, I guess I was thinking of something else."
"What were you thinking of?"
"Oh, I don't know--nothing."
"Why did you say you were?"
"You didn't tell me about why you didn't go to the hospital last
night."
"I can see things that other folks can't see," Whitie announced.
"You're like Licorice Stick," said Pee-Wee.
"He's black," Whitie said.
"I know he is."
"Then how am I like him? I'm white. My name is Whitie."
Pee-Wee felt like a prisoner at the bar of justice with this
little personage swathed in blankets, staring down at him. His
wrappings covered his neck and all that could be seen of him was
his face, perfectly motionless. Finally he said as if he were
pronouncing sentence.
"Doctor Killem took me in his auto. We had to turn around and come
back when we came to the bridge burning down. He's going to take me
another way. I saw a man getting dead,"
"Where?" Pee-Wee asked, his interest somewhat aroused,
"Will you give me that tin thing if I tell you?"
"That isn't a tin thing, it's a compass, it tells you which way to go.
"Can it talk?"
"No, it can't talk.
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