“Carry it to Hal McCormack’s and leave it on his porch,” said the boy with the shrill voice. “Let him find out what it is, an’ whose it is, an’ carry it home to-morrow morning. I bet he’s had plenty of fun to-night at somebody else’s expense; now let’s have a little fun at his expense.”
“Well, don’t waste time,” cautioned Ben. “If you’re going to take it to McCormack’s, come along!”
But the boy who was bearing the heavy end of the burden hesitated.
“Say,” he whispered, “can’t one o’ you fellows take my end? I barked my shin on the blamed thing up there, and it hurts.”
“Sure!” replied Ben. “Here; let me have it. Hurry up!”
But, in attempting to relieve his comrade, Ben failed to make his grasp secure; the end of the marble figure slipped from his hands, fell to the pavement, and was broken off almost midway of the statue, the remaining portion still secure in the grip of a boy named Bob.
The crash of the fall broke ominously into the stillness of the deserted street. For the first time that night the boys were really frightened.
“The jig’s up!” whispered one of them, as the fog-muffled echoes died away.
“Let’s leave the thing here on the walk an’ skedaddle,” said another.