"They wouldn't give 'em to us."
"Not if we said they was for the sufferin' Belgiums?" demanded Sube. "I'll betcha they would!"
"But what do we want of a lot of ol' women's clo's and hats and things, and ol' men's shoes?" asked Gizzard.
"Sell 'em to the second-hand man!" howled Sube jubilantly. "He'll buy anything, and pay us good cash money for it, too! But," he added after a moment, "we won't sell 'em any of the ol' men's shoes, 'cause I can wear 'em. I got good big feet on me; I can wear any man's shoe!"
Gizzard glanced quickly down at Sube's feet, and then at his own; then he gave a disdainful grunt. "Bet my feet are as big as yours," he declared, "if not bigger."
"Aw, come off," retorted Sube. "You got reg'lar little baby-feet."
"Is that so!" demanded Gizzard belligerently. "I'll measure up with you any ol' time." And he planted one of his feet alongside of Sube's in such a way that the toe of his own shoe extended slightly beyond that of his competitor. "There!" he howled exultantly. "What'd I tell you?"
Sube shoved him away forcefully, at the same time muttering, "Cheater! There was room enough for your other foot back there by my heel."
"Beater!" shouted Gizzard lustily.
"Cheater!" responded Sube as lustily.