“Why shouldn’t I kick it, young man?” demanded Luke.
“’Cause there’s—now—there’s somethin’ inside,” asserted Sammy.
“What?” was called at him in a chorus.
“My alligator!”
“Alligator!” Again the chorus, but in different-toned voices.
“Yes, I’ll show you.”
Sammy knelt over the white-painted football—for it was that—and began unlacing it to remove the outer cover of pigskin which inclosed the rubber bladder within, as an automobile tire is made of a casing and inner tube.
And from between the blown-up bladder and the outer skin Sammy lifted his pet Palm Island alligator.
“Sammy Pinkney!” cried Agnes.
“Did you do it on purpose?” demanded Ruth, though she sensed the futility of the question almost as soon as she had propounded it. Sammy seldom did anything without a purpose—good or bad.