"But there's nobody there. Maggie Nealy's out, too, to-night, and her mother——"
"Sh!" Willard put a hand over Judith's mouth. It smelled of kerosene, and she struggled, but did not make a noise. Just at this dramatic moment the Nealy's dog barked.
Judith could hear her heart beat and feel her damp feet getting really wet and cold.
"Now," Ed whispered, close to her ear and uncomfortably loud, and she fumbled in her basket. Willard jiggled the lantern dizzily over her shoulder, tissue paper tore under her fingers, and bonbons rattled. Hanging May-baskets was certainly hard on the May-baskets, and they were so pretty; pale coloured, like flowers.
"I can't find the right one. The marks are all falling off. The candy's falling out."
"We can't stand here all night. Here——"
"Willard, take your hands out. Not that one——"
"Willard and Judy stop fighting. That one will do. I'm going."
There was dead silence now, and Ed, clutching the wreck of a sizable crêpe-paper creation to the bosom of his white sweater, doubled into a crouching, boy scout attitude, crossed the road, and approached the house. Nothing but his own commendable caution delayed his approach. The small dog's dreams within were untroubled now. There were no signs of life.
He reached the front door, deposited the May-basket with a force that further demolished it, and took to his heels. After another breathless wait the procession formed behind him and trailed after him up the road, hilly here, so that the market basket grew heavier.