But suddenly their mirth ceased. In order not to lose his throw, when a lady was passing him, Joseph unconsciously drew nearer the window, and, with a loud crash, the ball went through the large pane of glass into the druggist's shop.
The man rushed angrily to the door just in time to see Joseph running for home as fast as he could go, while Dexter, pale with fright, was gazing at the broken glass.
"Did you do that?" asked the merchant in a stern, excited voice.
"No, sir, it was not my ball; here is mine," said the lad, looking the man full in the face; "but it's my fault, though."
This reply so astonished the incensed druggist that he asked, in a less angry tone, "What do you mean?"
"No, sir, it was not my ball."
"I asked him to play, sir. I'm real sorry! He was going home, but I asked him to play."
"Well, but who's to pay for my glass?"
"I'll give you all my spending money, sir!" cried Dexter, his cheeks flushing. "Will it cost a great deal, sir?"