Frank saw the object of his solicitude on the street in front of a vacant lot. Bill had slipped out to meet one of his cronies on the sly, and perhaps puff a cigarette in the cool of that Sunday morning.
“Morning, Bill. Lost something yesterday, didn’t you?” and Frank held up the red bandana.
Bill started to put out his hand, and then drew it cautiously back, as though he might have scented a trap.
“Naw, ain’t got any bandany rag. Belongs to some other fellow. What made you reckon I owned it?” he said, suspiciously.
“Because Gabe Brown says he sold you this particular one from a new lot that just came in, and different from the old ones. You were in a hurry to jump yesterday, Bill, when that bull started for the hole in the fence!”
Bill shut his teeth hard and looked as if about to hotly deny that he knew anything about that matter.
“Better go slow, Bill, or I might be tempted to step around and tell your dad a few things. Keep going with Lef Seller, and you’ll bring up in the lockup sooner or later. And, Bill, it’s a lucky thing for you that no one was seriously hurt yesterday when you let that savage beast in on the crowd. If there had been, I’d see to it that you were made to pay the piper.”
The awkward fellow looked frightened, and let his head drop on his chest.
“’Twas only a joke,” he mumbled, “but some fellers they never see anything funny.”
“Not when the joke endangers human life, and there were lots of kids around in the ball-grounds. Here, take the bandana, and stop pulling chestnuts out of the fire for Lef Seller, just like the cat did for the monkey.”