“An’ besides,” continued Connie, his smile even more pronounced, “the head o’ this keg has been took out an’ put back. You can see the new here. It ain’t been in the water long.”
“Always knockin’,” retorted Art. “Anyway, me and Wart found it. I guess we’ll take it for ours, eh, Wart?” he added with a wink.
“You can have my share,” exclaimed Connie. “But if it was me I wouldn’t touch it. I smell Goosetown all over that thing.”
For answer red-faced Art caught up a heavy boulder and dashed it against the top of the beer keg. The head fell in and water splashed out.
“It’s been leakin’,” he exclaimed. “I hope it ain’t spoiled what’s inside.”
Colly Craighead was the first to peer within. Then he caught his nose between his fingers and fled to Connie’s side without a word. As Art raised the broken head of the cask Sammy Addington thrust his short arm into the keg and drew out the dead body of “Wolf,” the fat little yellow pup that the Goosetowners had led in insulting parade before the Elm Streeters.
Art gave one quick sweeping glance about the place. If he expected to find Nick Apthorp and his friends in spying ambush he was disappointed.
“All I got to say,” he exclaimed in an angry voice, “is that this thing’s gone far enough. We stood for what they done marchin’ past us the other day but I ain’t a-goin’ to stand for no more. This Boy Scout business is all right but I ain’t a-goin’ to let these guys rub it in.”
“Say, Art,” spoke up Connie, coming forward, “you know what we’re goin’ to do to that gang before we get through with ’em?”