When Ray and his dinner party came streaming up the drive way, Mr. Benson was in his garage under his truck hood.
Twelve pumpkins left.
“What is going on over here?” Ray demanded.
Mr. Benson looked up. “Just fixing my truck.”
“I don’t care about your truck. Where are your children?”
“Back yard, I think.”
“What are they doing? They’re making a disaster in my back yard.”
Mr. Benson looked confused. “They’re in our back yard.”
“But things are flying into my back yard.”
“Orange things,” said Ray, now almost incoherent with rage.
Nine pumpkins left.
“Yes, all over the back yard!”