Now here was the pet, prize rooster of the Pepper flock, gravely inspecting the sputtering firecracker Artie had thrown into the road.
"Go chase him!" Polly urged. "Chase him quick!"
Artie meant to be quick, but the fuse was short and just as he started the rooster bent his head to peck at the fraying, reddening string. It behaved, he probably thought, like some kind of worm.
Bang! Fire and smoke and a terrible noise overwhelmed the poor rooster, and with a loud squawk he scuttled for the safety of his own chickenyard.
"If my mother catches you throwing firecrackers at her chickens, she'll tell your father, Artie Marley!" called Carrie Pepper, appearing around a bush of the Larue place, a piece of lighted punk in her hand.
The Larues lived across the street from the Marleys and the Pepper house and yard faced on another street. But the back yards of the Larue and the Pepper places joined and most of the fences were hedge, so that it was easy enough to go from one street to the other without going around.
Artie, halted on his errand of mercy, looked as guilty as though he had intentionally thrown the cracker at the rooster.
"He came after it!" he told Carrie lamely.
"Huh, I suppose he did—and you came down to meet him," Carrie retorted disagreeably.
"Don't argue, Artie," Polly called in a low voice. "Come on back and we'll do something else."