“Here’s apples!” he cried excitedly. “Gee whiz! Who says we don’t eat?”
But the fruit was in tightly nailed crates, which could not be easily opened.
“Come here, fellows!” shouted Spike. “Give me a hand! You don’t expect me to open ’em when there’s big guys like you around, do you?”
“Wait a minute!” commanded Bob. “Whose apples are they?”
“Whose are they? I don’t know. Why?”
“Do you think it’s right to get in a box car and eat up somebody’s apples?”
“Ah, gee whiz! You ain’t gonna back out of a chance like this, are you? Come on. Be a sport.”
Bob stoutly refused.
“We’re not going to open any boxes or crates around here, and you’re not either! Get that and get it straight! Of course if we have to, to keep from starving, we will. But not now.”
Against this stout protest there was no use persisting, and Spike finally walked sullenly back to his seat before the slightly open door.