"Surrender," came the call.
John dropped his shovel to the floor and seized a handful of snow.
"Going to fight or get snow jobs with me?" he asked, as he pounded the mass into an uneven sphere.
For an answer, his chum dropped his missile and ran around to the back yard, to reappear with his own shovel. He pointed down the street. Two members of the unemployed were making the snow fly at the DuPree's with an earnestness which boded ill for their youthful competitors.
"Let's try Southern Avenue," said John. "Perhaps there won't be anyone there."
No sooner said than done. But as they rounded the corner, they found that three of the "Jeffersons" had organized an expedition of their own and were cleaning the walk and porch of the house nearest the corner. Their leader motioned to Bill.
"Go on back home, or we'll smash your faces in."
John promptly stuck out his tongue. "They can't fight," he said scornfully, "and two of 'em are 'fraid cats. Let's try the big yellow house, Bill."
With a glance back at the foe, they ran up the steps and rang the bell persistently until a becapped, flustered servant opened the door.
"Ask the missis if she wants the walk cleaned?" said Silvey, who usually handled the negotiations for work.