"Smarty, smarty, smart-e-e-e!" he shrilled. "Johnny made a monkey of you. Johnny made a monkey of you!"
The ex-members of the armies snickered. Still the shouts continued. The doctor flushed a deep scarlet. To retreat in the face of the taunts seemed cowardly—to remain was rapidly becoming insufferable.
"Tell your friend he'd better keep quiet," he said in futile anger. Silvey interpreted the gesture which accompanied the ultimatum.
"Come on and make me quit," he chanted. "Johnny made a monkey of you and I can, to-o-o!"
The physician grinned sheepishly and took a few swift strides after the dancing figure. Silvey waited until he was almost at the wire railroad fence, and retreated to one of the back yards on the opposite side of the embankment. As the doctor retraced his steps to the sidewalk, the boys gazed thoughtfully at the depleted supply of ammunition. John turned to Skinny Mosher.
"Take that kid away before he gets us into more trouble. He's always spoiling our fun, anyway. What'll we do now."
"Let's go over to the street and get chased," Perry Alford suggested, as Skinny started towards home with his sniffling, reluctant brother.
They apportioned the last of the cucumbers and crossed the tracks in single file, pausing now to balance fantastically on the shining steel rails, and now to skip flat, smooth pebbles against the black, weathered girders which supported the block signals. As they reached the home precincts, a still-panting figure joined them.
"Has he gone?"
John nodded. "He was only bluffing. Might have known that. We're going over to the flats."