“Whose place is this?” asked Dave.
“Ole M’Dermid’s,” replied Tom. “I say, can you see any light in the house?”
“No,” replied Dave. “I reckon they must ’a’ turned in.”
“Dave,” mused Tom, pulling little splinters off the top rail of the fence on which he was leaning, “I wonder if any of them watermelons of M’Dermid’s is ripe?”
“I dunno,” responded Dave. “I wonder if they are?”
“Suppose we go into the maize patch and see?” suggested Tom.
“It ain’t right,” began Dave doubtfully, “is it?”
“Not under or’nery circumstances,” replied Tom, “but when a cove’s chucked out of house and home an’ druv to turn pirate, he’s got to look out and get tucker wherever he can. I reckon it ain’t right for a cove to thieve when he’s got a good home and plenty of tucker, but when a cove’s druv an’ he’s piratin’ round on a dark night on his own, I reckon it ain’t no harm to take a bloomin’ melon from a stingy ole Scotchman that’s got more’n he can use, do you?”
“I dunno,” said Dave. “I don’t reckon it ought to be.”
“Well, we’ll chance it,” said Tom, putting one leg through the fence. “You stay there and keep ‘nit.’”