“We’d only need one bucket of paint and one brush,” replied Bob. “And how do you know we can’t get them? This is Saturday night, and there’s sure to be some place open.”
“Well, we couldn’t get gray and gold in one bucket, you lobster,” returned Martin impolitely.
“We don’t need gray and gold, you shrimp. They wouldn’t show up well enough. We want a nice quart can of black. That’s the ticket! Nice, black black! Who’s going to have pie?”
It appeared that as many as four of their number were going to indulge in that delicacy, and that Martin, having consumed one large glass of milk, was in the market for a second. He had the forethought, though, to count his money before giving his order, and, finding he was safe, added: “How much does paint cost? I’ve only got carfare left.”
“Cal’s got a dollar yet, haven’t you?” answered Bob. “Paint isn’t expensive. Maybe seventy-five cents for a quart. A brush oughtn’t to be more than a quarter, had it?”
“You can buy a toothbrush for a quarter,” said Cal, “but I guess a paint brush costs a heap more. I’ve got a dollar and sixty cents left, though, and I’ll gladly devote it to the cause. Finish your eats, fellows, and let’s get started.”
Willard followed doubtfully when the repast was over. “I’ll go along,” he said, “but I’d rather not have anything to do with the game. It doesn’t look healthy to me.”
Martin laughed. “It’s all right if we don’t get nabbed, Brand. I’d like mighty well to see the expressions on the faces of some of these chaps over here tomorrow!”