“The doctor,” answered the boy. He was a tall boy. As he stood looking, he kicked something with his foot.
“What’s that?” Hervey asked.
The boy picked it up and dangled it in front of him, laughing. It was just about recognizable as the body of a kewpie doll, and it was a ghastly sight, for the head hung loose and the body was mangled and out of shape. “Glad you’re not as bad off as that, hey?” said the scout. “I won that blamed thing ringing canes and I got—I bet I got three yards of cloth off it; there goes.” And twirling it cruelly by one leg, he hurled it gayly over the heads of the throng.
“You people get away from here, go on,” said the robust voice of a policeman. “Go on, all of yer, get away from here; he ain’t hurt much. Go on, chase yourselves, you kids.”
“He can’t chase me anyway,” said Hervey.
“That’s a good one,” laughed the boy. “Nor me either; I’m the surgeon general or whatever you call it.”
“You can’t chase me,” said Hervey to the policeman. “That’s where I’ve got the laugh on you.”
“If I was your father, I’d chase you to the padded cell,” the policeman commented, then busied himself clearing away the loiterers.
The scout examined his twisted bandage and gave it one more twist. Then he sat down on the ground beside Hervey. Two or three men and the policeman lingered about, but did not bother these two.
“That was some crazy stunt all right,” said the scout.