“Yes, and let’s guy them!” interrupted Sherm.
“Sam’s in my room at school and he can’t stand being made fun of.”
The trio returned to the kitchen, and ably seconded by Chicken Little laughed and frolicked, jeering noisily at the crowd outside. The foes soon gave evidence that they could hear distinctly. They began to return the taunts and to rattle and pound on the doors and windows. They were getting cold and the penetratingly tempting smell of the taffy had evidently drifted through the cracks, for one shrill voice piped up:
“Say, give us some!” to be immediately hushed by his more warlike companions.
If the trio had been clever enough to act on this suggestion and treat, the feud might have come to a speedy end, but the lads were not at a tactful age. Instead Sherm hurled the most insulting defiance he could think of.
“Go get some yourselves, you red-headed Irish beggars!”
This taunt roused the wrath of the attacking party to a white heat, and an instant later the kitchen window came crashing in and a giant snow ball burst into masses of wet snow on the floor.
The boys made a dash for the door, but the bolt was hardly slid, when it, too, crashed, open, and Frank Morton stamped in, pushing Pat Casey and Mike Dolan ahead of him each securely gripped by the collar, in his strong hands.
“Now look here, what’s the meaning of all this boys?”
Before the boys could recover from their surprise sufficiently to answer, Dr. and Mrs. Morton and Alice came running in.