Now it happened that the innocent looking cylinder that looked like a new sort of pencil case was an infernal machine of the deadliest kind!
Filled with the most powerful explosives, the compact little engine of destruction was powerful enough to shatter a building. If Fatty had known ... if Frank had known when he bounced and jolted home in the flivver.... if Mrs. Bascom had known when she shifted it to the pile of handkerchiefs—well, this would have been a different story, with a different ending.
As it was, Fatty walked sedately to church, and with no trip or jolt violent enough to send Fatty skyward in scraps.
He could not stick it out until after Sunday School, however, and during the service brought it forth for the admiration of the boys in his class. A group of heads gathered about some object held under the back of the seat caught the attention of the Superintendent. Walking down the side aisle, he came back toward the front of the church by way of the middle aisle and leaned suddenly over the shoulders of the interested group. He quietly took the cylinder out of Eddie’s hand.
“Rowland,” he said sternly, “I regret to see you acting thus during Sunday School. If you cannot deport yourself in a proper manner I shall have to report you to your parents. I will give you your toy after service.”
Without giving Eddie a chance to explain he walked off, bearing the cylinder which he deposited on the desk.
“He thinks it’s mine,” whispered Eddie with a grin.
“You give it right back as soon as you get it!” hissed Fatty.
“Who wants your old cylinder, anyhow?”
“I do,” said Fatty. With a possible swap in view it was wise to boost his prize. “If I can get the top pried off it will make a dandy pencil case.”