“Yes, I see they’re empty,” observed Ned coolly. “But I haven’t got ’em!”
“You have so!”
“Indeed I haven’t. Search me!” and Ned, with an air of injured innocence, stood up and extended his arms at either side, an invitation for Bob to feel in his pockets. It was an invitation which the stout youth did not ignore, and he felt about Ned’s clothes with thoroughness, and convinced himself that the crullers were, as Ned had declared, not on his person.
“Well, you know where they are!” declared Bob.
“No, I don’t!”
“Jerry does, then!”
“What’s that?” asked the tall lad, looking up from his book on aeroplanes, which he and his new acquaintance were going over.
Bob explained, and Jerry’s denial was such that the stout lad felt inclined to accept it as final. Especially as he remembered that Jerry had not been near him since the purchase of the food at the lunch counter.
“Well, somebody’s got my crullers and I’m going to get ’em back!” exclaimed Bob. “I paid for ’em and I want ’em. A joke’s a joke, but this is too much! Shell out, fellows!” and he looked around at those nearest him.
The truth of the matter was that Ned had slyly slipped the bags of crullers out of the two side pockets of Bob’s coat, and had passed them, surreptitiously to two fellow conspirators. And then, as is usual in such cases, the crullers had gone from hand to hand until, reaching the far end of the car, they had been quickly eaten.