“Well, if this isn’t falling on the soft side of the fence!” chortled Eddie. “What will it cost us?”
“I don’t think it will cost us anything,” said Dee. “I think I brought enough wire and fittings along with me.”
“Let’s go get ’em now,” said Bill, beaming.
“All right,” said Dee. “They are pretty bulky.”
The boys went down the street, Skinny and Fat trailing along behind. When they reached the house, the boys, at Eddie’s suggestion, sat in a row on the step, while Dee went in to find his wires. Eddie took the opportunity to tell the boys about Dee’s peculiar father. They were not particularly interested because as Eddie had said, you never can tell what a fellow’s folks are apt to do.
Fatty Bascom was on the end of the line and as he sat there he became conscious of an odor that filled him with a great longing. He was minded to hurry off to his own home and call for supper, but the fragrance that trailed around the corner of the house was too good to leave. It seemed to be a mixed smell. Perhaps fried chicken and tarts, and fruit cake, and prune soufflé and plum pudding could make it, but there was a palate-tickling tang besides that Fatty had never known. He hitched himself over, and lifted a keen nose in the air. It was a hot smell, too. Something for Dee’s supper put out on the pantry window to cool; that was it.
Fatty could not endure it. He felt that he owed it to himself to see what it was. He knew if he could tell his mother about it, she would make him one. Quietly, without ostentation, he slid down and followed his nose around toward the back of the house. Passing through a high trellised gate, he gained the back yard and the bricked porch outside the kitchen. Something was steaming on the sill of the window—a window just too high for Fatty to reach. He was all honest boy. He would not have taken a crumb, he would not have touched the edge even of the mysterious dish, but he could not resist a look. The light from the kitchen streamed out, making the porch quite light. From within, Fatty heard an old voice singing something in a strange, guttural tongue. It made Fatty feel very queer. He looked around for something to stand on. There were three small boxes, quite new, standing on end against the house. Fatty noiselessly piled them under the window, then regardless of his muddy feet, mounted and received the shock of his life. While he had stooped to fix the boxes, someone had removed the dish! It was gone! Fatty ground a heel into the soft pine box in his rage, then sulkily betook himself back to his mates.
No one had seen him; no one had missed him. He resumed his seat, and soon Dee appeared, piled high with all sorts of things for wiring the club room. He made three trips before he was ready to take the things up to Bill’s and, each one accepting a share of the load, they carried their treasure and put it carefully in Bill’s attic.
Then Dee had to hurry home to supper, and Fatty thought with anguish of the mysterious dish. He signalled to Skinny Tweeters, and they walked down with Dee.
“Got a good cook?” asked Fatty.