“And my father’s coming, and so is my mother, and if you don’t give my sister back her cake they’ll have you arrested!” threatened Laddie.
“Oh, your father and mother—they is coming, are they?” asked the boy, who did not speak very good English. He was not quite so bold and defiant as at first.
“Yes, they’re coming,” said Russ, looking over his shoulder down the road. “But if you give up the shortcake there won’t be any trouble.”
“Why should I have your cake?” cried the boy. “Look you and see—it is not in mine pockets!” He turned one or two pockets inside out as he stood on the bridge.
“Pooh! Just as if you could put my big strawberry shortcake in your pocket!” scoffed Rose.
“It’s in your box or your basket, that’s where it is!” declared Laddie. And then another thought came to him as he added: “Unless you’ve eaten it!”
“Oh!” cried Rose, in distress at the thought of her good strawberry shortcake having been eaten by the shoe-lace peddler.
“I should eat your cake? No! No!” cried the boy, raising his hand in the air over his head.
“Well, I’m going to have a look in your basket!” threatened Russ, walking toward the place on the bridge where the peddler boy had set down the things in which he carried his wares.
“Don’t you touch my basket!” yelled the peddler. “If you open it I shall a blow give you on the nose!”