As a matter of fact neither Ernest nor Carol were allowed to do much showing of their faces out of doors after dark unless they had some business, their parents being firm in the belief that thirteen and fourteen year old boys should be at home after night. But this slur on their courage was not to be borne.
“I’ll ask Mother if we can’t make some hickory-nut candy tonight, then we can slip out and watch for them,” suggested Ernest after a few moments study.
“Bully, that’ll work! Mother will be glad to have me out of the way because Susy’s having a party.”
It took some tact on Ernest’s part before he secured the necessary permission, for Mrs. Morton felt that early to bed after Christmas dissipation would be wiser for all the children.
Chicken Little promptly demanded that Katy and Gertie be included, but Ernest was obdurate, threatening to shut her out if she teased.
Sherm and Carol arrived before the Mortons had finished tea; they shot in the side door with a swiftness that looked as if they were glad to be inside. Their words, however, belied any lack of courage. Sherm was armed with a baseball bat.
“I came round by Front Street,” he said, “I just thought I’d see if any of the gang were hanging round. I knew they wouldn’t dare tackle me when I had this.” He caressed his weapon lovingly.
Carol had a bag of the hardest snow balls he had been able to manufacture.
“I’d liked to put a rock in every one of them,” he declared bloodthirstily. “But Father said he’d lick me, if I ever did such a trick again, that time I hit Jimmy Smith. ’Twan’t nothing but a bit of gravel either. I didn’t suppose it would hurt him. But Father said it was lucky I didn’t kill him ’cause it struck right square above the eye.”
“’Tisn’t safe, I guess, Father would never let me put anything in a snow ball,” Ernest replied.