"Yesterday. Sidney an' Louise, Sidney an' Louise," came the taunting revision.
John's face set. All the wrongs which Sid had perpetrated since the Halloween party—the earlier sodas, the persistence which had culminated in the theater affair, the baseball election, and his arrogance since that time—clamored for revenge. He'd get even, he would. He'd go back and punch Sid's face in, and muss that new suit, and throw his baseball gloves up on a house roof. Then Mr. Sid would quit monkeying with his girl.
The appearance of that gentleman around the corner put a stop to his meditations. John waited until he sauntered unsuspectingly up to him.
"Say, Sid!"
"Yes?" A note in the voice put the captain of the "Tigers" on his guard.
"What's this I hear about Louise?"
"N-nothing."
"Been drinking sodas with her again, have you?"
"Who told you?" Sid made a futile effort to edge past the inquisitor.
"Never mind who. Promise not to do it any more or I'll—" He clenched one fist and drew it back threateningly.