“Are they the same he had with him this afternoon?” asked Dennis.
“If they are he’s not sold many,” responded McCarty. “Where’s he gone, I wonder? ’Tis a grand sight we’ll be, trailing them through the streets across town, but I’m going to find out what’s inside of every last one of them this night!”
Dennis betrayed acute symptoms of alarm.
“What if we find what we’re looking for and the two of us keel over?” he demanded. “If you’ll listen to me for once, Mac, we’ll take them up to the Park in the fine fresh air and bu’st them with rocks—thrown! I’m not saying we’ve done such a hell of a lot so far in this investigation but we’d do less laid out cold and stiff!”
“Well do the spell-binders—of the losing party—tell us the town is going to the devil when we depend on the likes of you, that’s afraid of a child’s toy, to protect us if we drop a cigarette or coax the stove along with a bit of kerosene!” retorted McCarty, adding with naïve inconsistency: “That wop ain’t carting poison gas around with him in ten-cent balloons, but I’m going to be sure, anyhow.”
A clatter on the steps interrupted the debate and the swarthy vendor of the afternoon appeared with a round, porous loaf and a pale, bulbous cheese unwrapped beneath his arm.
“Joe’s out.” He jerked his thumb toward the table. “Write da ord’ on da slate an’ bime-by he bring it.”
“’Tis not coal nor ice we want, Tony, but some of your balloons, a lot of them,” McCarty replied. “You know the kid that delivers the papers over at the New Queen’s Mall? He told us where to find you, for they’re giving a child’s party where we work and we’ve got to have the balloons right away.”
“How many?” Tony deposited the bread and cheese on the table with a thump and proceeded eagerly to business. “Fine-a balloon, only fifteen-a cent—!”
“A dime was what you were asking this afternoon and a dime you’ll get now!” McCarty announced with decision. “How many have you there?”