Thus admonished, Ted took a position well to his chum's rear.
Meanwhile Bob continued on and was soon at the grocery store.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Hodge," he said politely.
"Arternoon," replied Mr. Hodge, for he was not fond of boys, least of all Bob Henderson. "What d' you want?"
He had an air as if he was saying:
"Now none of your tricks, you young rapscallion! If you play any jokes on me you'll smart for it!"
"Mother wants a pound of lard—the best lard, Mr. Hodge," said Bob.
"I don't keep any but the best."
"Then I want a pound. It's a fine day, isn't it?"
"I don't see nothin' the matter with it. 'Tain't rainin' anyhow. Now don't you upset anything while I go fer the lard. I have t' keep it down cellar, it's so hot up here."
Bob knew this. In fact, he counted on it for what he was about to do. No sooner had the storekeeper started down the cellar stairs than Bob pulled from his pocket a long, stout piece of cord. He quickly fastened one end of it to the spigot of a molasses barrel, which stood about half way back in the store. Then he ran the cord forward and across the doorway, about six inches from the floor, and fastened the other end to a barrel of flour as a sort of anchor.