“No, you came up ahead. We had Red-Head’s carriage and it was full up. Spud was holding his suit-case in his lap, and just as we made the turn into Elm Street it slipped—”
“Slipped nothing!” cried Spud. “The Fungus shoved it off!”
“Why, Spud Halladay, how you talk! I wouldn’t do such a mean trick!”
“Well, anyway, it went out,” continued Dutch, “and there was a nice big pool of muddy water right there and the suit-case went kerplunk—”
“And I hadn’t shut it tight because it was sort of crowded, and the water got inside and just about ruined everything,” said Spud. “Oh, it was funny—maybe. I’ll get even with The Fungus yet for that.”
“Spud, I didn’t—”
“Shut up, Fungus, and don’t lie. I saw you,” said Hoop.
“I was about to remark,” said The Fungus with dignity, “that I didn’t see the puddle. It was—it was a coincidence, Spud.”
“Yes, it was—not! You wait, you white-haired, bleached out toadstool!”
“Spud, you can’t call me that and live,” said The Fungus. Instantly Spud and The Fungus were thrashing and kicking about on the floor beside the window-seat. Proceedings of this sort were so frequent, however, that the others merely looked on calmly until The Fungus, by virtue of superior size and agility, had Spud at his mercy. “Beg pardon?” demanded The Fungus.