“Why, not exactly,” said Tom. “I told him I would take it if he couldn’t get anybody else. It isn’t much of a place.”
Of course this was only a salvo for Tom’s wounded pride, for he had been eager to enter the store.
“I’ll tell you what,” added Tom, after a pause, “suppose we play a trick on Raymond.”
“What sort of a trick?”
“Suppose we pitch a stone into that basket of eggs. There’ll be an awful smash, and he can’t see who did it.”
This was a proposition which just suited James. It would get Harry into trouble with his employer, and this of course would be rare sport. Then, as they could easily withdraw from sight, he would never know to whom he was indebted for the favor. All these considerations darted through James Turner’s mind more quickly than I have stated them, and he responded:—
“All right, Tom. You do it. You can fire straighter than I.”
Tom needed no second approval. He seized a stone about as large as his two fists, or perhaps a little larger, and, bending over the cliff, fired it directly at the basket.
His success was all that he could have wished. His aim was a true one, and the first Harry knew of the “trick,” there was a loud crash behind him, and the contents of the eggs were partially spattered over him. Glancing quickly back, he saw that the wreck was almost total. Of the three dozen eggs not one third had escaped destruction.
Now, though Harry was naturally good-natured, he felt that this was a little too much for good-nature. It might be a joke; but he could not see it in that light. He knew that he was likely to be blamed for the accident, and he resolved to find out how it came about. It was not very probable that the stone came into the basket of its own volition. There was evidently some human agency concerned, and this agency Harry determined to ascertain.