He puckered up gamely.
“And do I sound like a girl now?” he squeaked.
“You’ll do, Poppy,” I slapped him on the back. “Gee, kid, you’re clever.”
“Remember,” he glared at me, as he powdered his nose, “one word of this when we get home, and your folks will pick you up with a blotter.”
We were all set now. And as it was getting close to nine o’clock, we took old Goliath with us and went out to the front gate, where we tied a rope from pillar to pillar.
“The trick is,” Poppy explained to the giant, “that we’ve got to stop old Chew from going into the house. And being big and husky, we brought you along to help us.”
“Sure thing,” waggled old baldy. “What do you want me to do?—wring his neck?”
“He deserves it,” grinned the leader, “but I guess we hadn’t better do that. For it might get us into trouble with the law. A safer plan will be to lock him up in the barn.”
Pretty soon the lawyer came along, having learned from his smart son, of course, that the quarantine sign was a trick.
“Gid-dap!” the driver flopped the lines, when the horse stopped at the gate. But the old nag never budged. Grumbling, the big one got out to see what was wrong, which gave us a chance to tackle him, football style, after which Goliath lugged him off to the barn.