He said, “Yaas? Wall, we’ll soon see. We’ll have him under lock and key for sartin, if that’s what he likes.”
“That’s his favorite pastime,” I said; “you don’t know him.”
“Surraound this here wagon, you people,” the constable said, “and keep a watch on these kids; they’re pretty slippery.”
So then the constable and another man began chopping down the doors. “It’s up to them,” I said to Pee-wee; “we should worry.”
“What do you suppose Brent will do?” he said.
“They’ll lock him up till the whole thing is explained,” I said; “they won’t take our word for anything. He’s got troubles of his own at last; I hope he’s satisfied. He wanted bread and water, now he’ll get it.”
“They’ll lock us up, too, won’t they?” the kid said, good and scared. “That man is keeping his eye on us.”
All the while the dog kept yelping and clawing at the doors and the people crowded closer around so as to see better. Gee, I felt kind of sorry for Brent, because I saw he was up against it.
All of a sudden down came one of the doors and the bloodhound sprang inside and came out again. The constable poked his head in and said, “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Pee-wee and I looked inside and, good night, that van was as empty as an ice cream soda glass when Pee-wee is through with it.
“Well—what—do—you—know—about—that?” I stammered under my breath to Pee-wee.