“No, no!” exclaimed Ruth, having hard work to crowd back the tears. “But I’m almost scared to death. That—that young one!” and she grabbed at Dickie. “What did you drop that punk into the fireworks for?”
“Huh?” questioned the imperturbable Dickie.
“Why didn’t you throw that lighted punk away?” and Ruth was tempted to shake the little rascal.
But instantly the voluble Willie shouldered his way to the front. “Gee, Miss! he thought you wanted him to drop it right there. You said so. An’—an’—— Well, he didn’t know the things in the box would go off of themselves. Did you Dickie?”
“Nope,” responded his twin.
“Do forgive ’em, Miss Ruth,” whispered Sadie Raby. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Steele to get after ’em. You know—he can be sumpin’ fierce!”
“Well,” sighed Ruth Fielding, “they’re the ‘terrible twins’ right enough. Oh, Tom!” she added, as young Cameron came to her to shake hands.
“You’re getting better and better,” said Tom, grinning. “I’d rather be in a wreck with you, Ruthie—of almost any kind—than with anybody else I know. Those kids don’t even know what you saved them from, when you dragged ’em over the back of that seat.”
“Sh!” she begged, softly.
“And it’s a wonder we weren’t all blown to glory!”