Out from the wreck Herc was hauled much the worse for wear, while another section of the police captured the donkey. Ned was angry. He stepped up to Herc and pointed an accusing finger at the red-headed youth.
“Herc Taylor, I’ve a notion that you meant to do that.”
“I did not. What an idea!”
“Wasn’t that the store owned by the man you said had cheated you on some post cards?”
“I reckon so,” rejoined Herc indifferently, trying to get the sticky confection with which he had been deluged out of his hair and off his uniform.
“Well, it’s up to you to do something. Look what disaster you have caused! Why, an eight-inch shell couldn’t have provoked worse damage.”
“Oh, what do I care! I’d like to see a few shells coming into this bazaar and cleaning out some of the thieves that infest it.”
“That is no way to talk. See, here comes the owner of the place now. He looks mad. Maybe he’ll have you arrested.”
This possibility appeared to sober Herc down considerably.
“What do you want me to do?” he inquired, rubbing his bruises. “I’ve a good mind to sue him for having his shop in the way of my donkey.”