"Come on, Bill," he said suddenly. "Let's collect 'em."
They waited until the distributors were too far down the street to interfere, and sneaked up and down the house steps with careful thoroughness. As the bundles under the two boyish arms were becoming heavy, Mrs. Fletcher darted out by the lamppost in front of the house and beckoned to John vigorously. He left Bill with a show of regret, for the dozen odd copies under his arm were far less than he would have liked.
Louise sauntered home with him after school that day. As they passed Southern Avenue, the lady's gaze rested on a muddy object in the street gutter, and John stooped to pick it up. Torn, disfigured with innumerable heel marks and wagon wheels, the battered bundle of paper was all that remained of a Christmas booklet.
"Oh!" said Louise in surprise.
"Didn't you get one?"
She shook her head. Evidently other boys at her end of the street had emulated John and Bill.
"Tells all about toys," he volunteered. "I'll bring you one with the paper, if you want."
She thanked him and dropped the ruin regretfully. Those dolls on the back cover were so enticing.
"Aren't you glad Christmas is coming?" John asked. "Gee, I wish it was day after tomorrow."
Louise nodded.