Ward glanced at him indignantly. It was bad enough, he thought, to be almost frightened out of his wits by having a package of fireworks go off in his arms, but to be accused of setting the fire was too much.
"Is any one killed?" asked Mrs. Pepper, peering fearfully over the fence.
Her garden joined the Larue place and she had been weeding her onions when the noise had startled her and made her, so she complained, drop the sharp hoe on her foot.
"I came within an ace of slicing off my toe," she said. "What was that racket?"
"I had some fireworks and they blew up," Ward explained.
"I wish they'd all blow up and get it over with," announced Mrs. Pepper grimly. "The time to have fireworks go off is a week before the Fourth. Then we might enjoy the day in peace."
She looked severely at Ward as though she blamed him for the fireworks that had not blown up.
"Perhaps now you'll be spared to your folks for another year, with all your arms and legs," continued Mrs. Pepper. "You take my advice and don't get any more fireworks, young man."
She went back to her weeding, and Ward complained that there was no hope of getting more fireworks. Not unless Fred resigned as treasurer.