"Hello—Dearie," chirped the owner of the second pair of bare feet.
"Look at Mother's Darling feeding his face!"
"Isn't he cunning! Isn't he cute!"
A third figure swung itself to the top of the fence.
"Don't fill your little tummy too full, Sammy dear," it contributed dutifully.
At the malice and scorn that fairly dripped from the words Sammy raised resentful eyes from his slice of bread and jam. Frank smiled hopefully.
"Oh, Frank, Sammy goes to Sunday-school he does."
"Every Sunday—don't ya, Sammy?"
"Bet he goes to Sunday-school just to sponge. Bet he's a grafter—bet he—"
But at this point Frank's helper turned about and faced the fence. And a strange thing happened. The three little figures sitting in a row gave one look, one shout of, "Holy gee—it's him!" and vanished as suddenly as they had come.