“I fell down on the hill,” explained Roy, “but if you don’t want it, don’t bother. It’s just a little squashed. I’ll eat it all right.”
Norman began to straighten out the crumpled pieces with his finger, when his chum added, with some exultation: “And these.”
Then, from within his unbuttoned shirt, he began to unload a dozen large sugar-coated doughnuts.
As Norman’s mouth began to water, and he turned to the bread bag, a new odor caught his nostrils.
“What’s this?” he exclaimed, pulling another greasy bag from among the bread loaves.
“Oh, I forgot,” sputtered Roy, a part of one of the doughnuts already in his mouth; “that’s some baked ham I found at the butcher shop. I guess that’s some eats.”
“Didn’t you get any pop?” was Norman’s only answer, a look of added disgust spreading over his face.
Roy turned, with a startled look: “I couldn’t carry any more,” he answered a little guiltily, “but I drank a couple o’ bottles myself.”
“I knew I’d get stung if I let you go!” growled his companion.
Norman looked at him with indignation. Then, having already appropriated a doughnut, he mounted quickly on the side of the car and sprang down again with the aluminum basin in his hand.