“Sundry groceries, of course?” said he. “And would you care for any rich stuffs?”
“Well, I don’t know that we need any just now,” said the chief; “but you might throw in enough gold-threaded blue taffeta to make a jerkin for that little codger back there.”
“Three-quarters of a yard of blue taffeta,” wrote the man. And then he looked up and asked: “Anything else to-day?”
“I believe not,” said the chief. And then brandishing his sword, he shouted: “Back to your homes, base villagers, and thank your stars that I let ye off so easily.”
“Home with ye!” shouted Tomtit, “and keep on star-thanking till we come again.”
“You need be in no hurry about sending those things,” said the chief to the principal man, as he was about to leave, “except the taffeta. I’d like to have that to-day.”
“Very good,” said the other; “I’ll send it immediately.”
As the robbers and boys departed, the latter were not at all slow to say that they were very much disappointed at what they had seen. It was tamer than a game of football.
“The fact is,” said the chief, “these villagers have been sacked so often that the people are used to it, and they just walk out and pay up without making any row about it. It’s the easiest way, both for them and for us; but I admit that it is not very exciting.”
“I should say not,” said Old Pluck. “What I want is ‘the wild rush and dash, the clink and the clank, and the jingly-jank, hi-ho!’”