“Hurry up, Big!” hissed Tucker, thrusting his head out from beneath the couch. “If you keep on puttering around, Maggie will come back and catch you.”
The fat boy made a dash for the pantry. Five minutes after the return of Maggie Swazey there came a familiar tapping at one of the kitchen windows.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the girl; “it must be Dennis. I didn’t expect him to-night.”
She hastened to the door and opened it wide in a welcoming manner.
“Good avenin’, Dennis,” she laughed. “How does it happen you’re here so early?”
“It’s not Dinnis Oi am,” announced a voice, as a man wearing the uniform of an officer stepped into the room. “Me name is Patrick McGee, and Oi’ve been app’inted to the beat lately hild by me lamentid fri’nd Dinnis Maloney.”
“Your lamented friend?” gasped Maggie. “Why, what do you mean, sir? Oh, tell me, has anything terrible happened to Dennis?”
“Sure and there has,” was the sad and solemn answer.
Maggie seemed ready to faint.
“He isn’t dead, is he?” she almost shrieked.