“New!” said Billy, in scorn. “Father never kicked me. Don't know who he is.”
“He's a special!” shrilled the leading bird, sensationally. “He's got a badge, and he's goin' to arrest yer.”
Two of them hopped instantly to the safe middle of the street, and scattered with practiced strategy; but Billy stood his ground. “Dare you to arrest me!” said he.
“What'll you give me not to?” inquired Lin, and he put his hands in his pockets, arms akimbo.
“Nothing; I've done nothing,” announced Billy, firmly. But even in the last syllable his voice suddenly failed, a terror filled his eyes, and he, too, sped into the middle of the street.
“What's he claim you lifted?” inquired the leader, with eagerness. “Tell him you haven't been inside a store to-day. We can prove it!” they screamed to the special officer.
“Say,” said the slow-spoken Lin from the pavement, “you're poor judges of a badge, you fellows.”
His tone pleased them where they stood, wide apart from each other.
Mr. McLean also remained stationary in the bluish illumination of the window. “Why, if any policeman was caught wearin' this here,” said he, following his sprightly invention, “he'd get arrested himself.”
This struck them extremely. They began to draw together, Billy lingering the last.