Stacy complied, but with evident reluctance, and, obeying a gesture from Hippy, seated himself on a slab of granite beside his Uncle Hip.
“Why did you fool with the sights on my rifle?” demanded Lieutenant Wingate sharply.
“I—I—I—”
“Don’t quibble. Whenever you put on a wooden face I know that you have been up to monkey-shines. Why did you do it?”
“I—I—I just wanted to get even with you, Uncle Hip,” stammered the fat boy.
“For what?”
“You—you pinked my pony with a peashooter and made me come a cropper in a rose bush. Don’t you deny it. You know you did,” added Chunky, adopting his most savage tone.
Hippy Wingate chuckled.
“That is it, eh?”
“Yes.”