“That’s the style of them,” laughed Fons after he had finished the piece. “I see you like it. Now you stay here while I run up to the house and get some lemons and candy; and don’t let any bad boys run off with my things.”
What Fons really did was to go up to the Schwarmer stables, where he found an army of small boys to whom Schwarmer was distributing packages of Fourth of July fireworks. He watched them and saw a squad of four rough little rascals who were trying to get a double or perhaps a quadruple supply. They were changing caps with each other and holding each other’s boxes.
“Here boys,” he said, calling them aside, “I know what you want. You haven’t got your share and some others have more than their share. I can fix that for you. I was a boy myself only a little while ago. There’s a boy down by the river just opposite the big Cornwallis lot who has a great lot of the very best kind of fireworks—stars and garters, Johnny-jump-ups and Yankee-doodle-doos. You go down there and make him divide up. You can swipe him easy enough. He’s a little Sunday-school angel, who wants to celebrate all by himself. You’ll know him. He is rigged out in the Can’t-tell-a-lie George Washington style.”
Fons’ intention was to go down to the river’s bank, secrete himself where the boys couldn’t see him and watch them while they fought it out; but his plan was baffled by an unexpected event.
CHAPTER III.
THE ALARM.
“It’s ten o’clock already!” exclaimed Mrs. Cornwallis as she finished her bath. “But everything is in perfect order now except ourselves. There’s that dreadful cannon again! It made me shiver this time.” Then she added anxiously, “Where’s Laurens? Have you heard him come in? I never knew him to stay out so long.”
“No, I haven’t,” replied Ruth, taking the alarm. “Please help me on with my dress and I’ll go after him.”