“Hello, Sam,” he responded. “What’s it?”
Sam Sawyer, a likable-looking boy whose manner, and attire, suggested a leisure not enjoyed by his friend, smiled back. “Just wanted to see you,” he answered. “Have some?” He proffered a bag of peanuts. Joe dipped into it, but he frowned slightly as he did so.
“I’ve got to hurry,” he said a trifle importantly.
“Where are you going?” Sam glanced at the wire carrier affixed to the front of the bicycle which was piled with bundles.
“Temple Street,” replied Joe. “Mrs. Madden’s. She wants these things for supper—I mean dinner.”
“I should think she’d order them earlier then,” said Sam. “Say, did you hear about Warren Scott?”
Joe shook his head. “No. What’s it?”
“‘What’s it!’” mimicked the other. “They got his wheel yesterday.”
“Stole it, you mean?” asked Joe interestedly. “Who?”