“That reminds me,” said Bob, “that there’s some pie in the pantry and sarsaparilla in the ice-box that mother told me to pass around among you fellows. That is, of course, if you care for it,” he added, as he paused in seeming doubt.
“If we care for it!” cried Jimmy, the creases of perplexity in his brow disappearing as if by magic. “Lead me to that pie. I’ll fall on its neck like a long-lost brother.”
“It’ll fall into your neck, you mean,” chuckled Herb, and in less than two minutes saw his prophecy verified.
“And now,” said Bob, after the last crumb and drop had disappeared, “I don’t want to tie the can to you fellows, but I hear dad moving around and locking up, and that’s a sign to skiddoo. We’ll think over that idea of Herb’s and get a tip from Doctor Dale as to the best way to go about it.”
There was a chorus of hearty good-nights and the radio boys separated.
Two days later, as Bob and Joe were coming home from school, the latter, looking behind him, gave vent to an exclamation that drew Bob’s attention.
“What’s up?” he asked, turning his head in the same direction.
“It’s Buck Looker and his bunch!” exclaimed Joe, a flush mounting to his brow and his eyes beginning to flame. “He’s been careful to keep out of my way so far. Let’s wait here until he catches up to us.”
“You’ll wait a long time then, I guess,” replied Bob, “for he’s seen us, too, and he’s slowing up already. He doesn’t seem a bit anxious to overtake us.”
“Then we’ll have to go back and meet him,” said Joe grimly. “I’m going to have it out with him right here and now. He needn’t think he’s going to get away scot free after the trick he played on me.”