"Never mind," said the Pinkshaw twin, reassuringly, "they haven't got us."
"They will get us, though," said Jack. "That George Crayton will tell on us—he's an awful coward when he gets cornered. What shall I do?"
"Lick him," suggested the Pinkshaw twin; "lick him until he'll be afraid to say his soul's his own the next time he gets into a scrape."
"That isn't it," said Jack. "The thing will get all over town, and all this time I ought to have been at home to see Mr. Daybright, who was to come to our house to-night for the express purpose of examining me on my evidences!"
The Pinkshaw twin had nothing to say in reply to this information, and Jack sneaked home and hung about the doorway until he assured himself that Mr. Daybright had gone; then he made some lame excuse for his absence and retired to a very uneasy pillow.
CHAPTER VIII.
FUGITIVES FROM JUSTICE.
On the next morning there was a marked scarcity of boys in places where, at ordinary times, boys most did congregate. The scamps who had scrambled about the edge of sacrilege on the preceding night, kept themselves carefully secluded from the general gaze, while other mischievous boys, having learned by sad experience that suspicion, like lightning, is much given to striking at objects that do not merit any such attention, devoted themselves industriously to home affairs, or went upon solitary journeys into the suburbs.
And these precautionary measures proved to be not without sense, for at a tolerably early hour the Post Office, which was also the office of the most popular of the two local justices of the peace, was approached by a strong delegation from the outraged Society of German Methodists. First came the renowned Vater Offenstein, supported by the Reverend Schnabel Mauterbach, pastor of the church. Vater Offenstein had not been able to keep his hair and clothing wet during the hot August night, but the water thrown from the syringe had not been very clean, so there were great stains upon the cotton shirt which its wearer would swear had been put on clean on the day of the service. The pastor bore the soiled and still damp copy of the Holy Book. Then came old Nokkerman, his hair carefully combed and soaped down, so that the justice might plainly see the bald spot which had been used as a target. Beside old Nokkerman walked Shantz the butcher, with his coat off, so that he might display the great red spot where the putty-ball had struck him. After them walked Petrus von Schlenker, to offer an affidavit that he had prayed during the service, though anyone who knew the gifts of the tongue of Petrus would have accepted a mere statement on that point as conclusive. Beside Petrus waddled Nuderkopf Trinkelspiel, jealously guarding in an empty paint can the bent pin which had caused him to disturb the meeting; he also bore, in their normal position, the well-patched trowsers through which the point of the pin had found its way.
Then came the sexton of the church, carrying under one arm the bench which Vater Offenstein had hurled at Satan's representative; in another hand he carried the broken glass and sash wrapped in two thicknesses of newspaper, and in his pocket was a match-box containing the papers and such other fragments as could be collected of the offending torpedoes. A number of witnesses followed, so that the postmaster-justice's little office was completely filled. Then the pastor announced that the party had called to make and substantiate a complaint, and various statements were volunteered before the justice could impress the assemblage with the necessity for administering oaths. Vater Offenstein, immediately upon being sworn, opened his coat, displayed his soiled shirt, and impressively held the Good Book aloft, opened at its stained, wet pages. Shantz the butcher delivered his own sworn statement with his face to the wall, the impressiveness of the proceeding being somewhat abated by his completely covering with his immense forefinger the red spot on the back of his neck; old Nokkerman bent nearly double so as to display his baldness as he talked; Petrus von Schlenker talked volubly to no purpose until cut short by the justice, and Nuderkopf Trinkelspiel, trying at the same time to hold aloft the torturing pin, look the justice impressively in the eye, and yet display the seat of offending beneath his upraised coat-tail, presented a figure which utterly destroyed judicial gravity. Then the sexton laid upon the table the little bench which Vater Offenstein had cast from the pulpit, and carefully unrolled the broken glass and sash, and brought up from the depth of his pocket the little but positive proof in the shape of fragments of torpedoes. Then the constable brought in lazy George Crayton, who had spent the night in the town jail, and who looked as pallid and guilty as if he had to answer for the crime of murdering a whole family.