"Why, he isn't here," said Whopper.
"He just came up, threw one snowball, and ran away. I guess he meant to hit somebody else and the snowball hit Mr. Felps instead," went on the small boy. "Don't let him know I told you, or he'll wax me good for it."
"I shan't tell Ham," said Snap. "But this is strange," he continued.
"Thought Ham was too much of a dude to throw snowballs," was Whopper's comment. "Why, he wears a new necktie every day now, and new patent leather shoes, and new gloves, and—"
"Don't pile it on too thick, Whopper," laughed Shep. "But I admit, he is a dude and no mistake."
"And a sneak—to run away as soon as he hit old Felps," finished
Giant.
There was no time to say more, for the snowball battle was again raging, more furiously than ever. The balls flew on all sides, and grown folks, coming in that direction, kept out of the way as much as possible.
"Here comes old Mammy Shrader!" cried Snap, presently. "We must be careful not to hit her."
The woman he referred to was old and feeble and very short sighted. She had a faded shawl over her shoulders and carried a market basket on one arm. She went out nursing among the poor people and was well known throughout the entire neighborhood.
As the old woman came on a snowball was thrown at her from the other side of the street.