“Aunty has gone away on the choo-choo,” hooted Bid, “and left her ’ittle boy home all alone.”
“And she gave him a nice juicy kiss,” jeered Jimmy.
“Right on the mouth,” another member of the gang put in.
Tom took after them, chasing them away.
It was darkening fast, so we started back to the brick house. First, though, I ran home and explained the situation to Mother. She immediately wanted to know why Tom couldn’t come to our house and stay. I told her that it would be more fun living at his place—sort of like camping. She shook her head and said that boys were queer creatures.
“Did you know,” she told me, “that Donald Meyers is sick in bed?”
“Scarlet fever?”
“The doctor hasn’t said that it is scarlet fever—at least he hasn’t put up a quarantine sign. [[30]]But nobody is allowed to go into or out of the house.”
“Poor Red,” I murmured, sorry for my chum.
Here the other fellows whistled to me, so I ran into the street. They were talking about the sick one.