"Say, you boys!" he began. "Can't ye read them signs?"
"What signs, kind sir?" asked Horrors, languidly. Ben Comas, at his elbow, nudged the taller lad and whispered:
"Don't make it worse! Don't nag him!"
"Them 'No Trespass' signs," said the constable. "You know well enough they was put up to warn such chaps as you be off the island."
"But suppose we don't believe in signs? You know, I never was superstitious myself; I'd just as soon walk under a ladder—or take a bath on a Friday—as not."
Pudge began to chuckle, and the wrath of the constable was flagged in his thin cheeks by a rising flush.
"Stop it! Stop it!" ejaculated Ben Comas, under his breath. "We're in a bad enough scrape as it is."
The other gave no heed. He showed his even teeth in a sudden smile, that was all. Enos Quibb said, harshly:
"You're one smart boy, I don't dispute; but if you and your friends don't pack up and git off of this island shortly, you'll be smarter. Don't you know I can arrest you for trespass?"
"No," was the quiet reply. "I don't know that."