But Dorothea had got a good vision of the writing at last.
“Why, that’s my cousin’s name!” she exclaimed eagerly, wondering if she could possibly get that box of candy. “Joyce Ra—”
But a firm little hand was laid smotheringly over her mouth.
“Shut up!” said Lib Knox fiercely. “Don’t you know you mustn’t talk to strange men on the street? Come on, I hear the last bell ringing—” and she seized her young slave and dragged her at full tilt down the street.
Tyke stood still on the pavement, his red hair reflecting the morning sun, and his unholy face broad with a leer of triumph. Let them go. He had his clue, Joyce! Strange he hadn’t thought of that name before. Even when he used the whole alphabet, somehow he didn’t figure out that name. The rest would be easy to get. He sauntered down after the flying children and noted the location of the school house. School would be out at noon of course—or would afternoon be better? Ah, there was a tall hedge across the way, an excellent point of vantage to watch as the children filed out at the end of the day.
And so it happened, quite late in the afternoon after Lib Knox and Dorothea had written their misspelled words five hundred times and stayed in an extra half-hour for talking deaf and dumb language in class, and when they had visited the public garage for an hour and played with the five blind puppies that had recently arrived there, and had said a lingering and fond farewell for the afternoon and parted, that Dorothea started on her reluctant way home to supper.
As she turned the corner out of sight of Lib Knox, Tyke stepped up as if he had just been walking down that way.
“Hello, kid,” he said in his insinuating way. “I jest been lookin’ fer you. Bought that box of candy awhile ago an’ thought I’d like to give it to you. You like chocolates, don’t you, kid?”
Dorothea quickly assured him that she did, her eyes round with eagerness.
He produced a pound box tied with a red ribbon.