“Then you’d no business to let me use it!” she snapped.
“It allers held me up when I wanted to look over the fence,” he said mildly. “But then of course I never stepped in the middle of it,” he added as he helped his wife pull aside the broken boards so she could step out. “I kept on the edges.”
“Have those boys gone?” she demanded when free.
“I don’t think so. I’ll look,” he volunteered as he turned the soap box up on edge and peered over the fence. “No, they’re here yet,” he answered as he saw Joe and Tom standing there, trying their best not to laugh. “Was you wantin’ to speak with ’em, Alvirah?”
“Speak with them! Of course I do!” she cried. “Tell them to come around to the side gate. I’ll speak to them,” and she drew herself up like an angry hen.
“Did—did they smash a window?” asked Mr. Peterkin.
“Smash a window? I only wish it was no worse than that!” cried his wife. “They threw their nasty baseball into a kettle of apple sauce that was stewing on the stove, and the sauce splashed all over my clean kitchen. Tell them to come around. I’ll speak to them!”
“I—I guess you’d better come in, boys,” said Mr. Peterkin softly, as he delivered the message over the fence. Then he added—but to himself—“Maybe you might better have run while you had the chance.”
“We’re in for it I guess,” murmured Tom, as he and Joe went around to the side gate.