“The Old Maids,” replied Spud. “There are two of them. Their name is Curtis. They’re Tartars, too. They’ve got a dandy apple orchard back of the house and they’re very, very stingy with the fruit thereof.”
“It doesn’t do them much good, though,” said Ned, returning with the two rackets. “We usually get all we want.” The Fungus chuckled.
“Rather! And we ought to be seeing how those nice big red apples are coming on. They’re usually ready for us about the first of October, aren’t they, Ned?”
“I guess so.” He lowered his voice. “We might drop over tonight and investigate. What do you say?”
“Good scheme! I couldn’t do a thing to a couple of those pippins! I wonder if they’ve nailed up the gate again.”
“Sure! We’ll have to climb, I guess.”
“Well, we’d better stroll along and find a good place to get over. Last year I tore my bestest panties on a picket. Come on, Cal; you and I’ll look things over while those chumps try to play tennis.”
“What is it you’re going to do?” asked Cal as he followed The Fungus around the corner of the house and across the grass toward the fence and hedge.
“Why, find a place where we can get over the fence easily and not get tangled up in the hedge. We all take pillow-cases over and fill them with apples, you know. They’re dandy! Only, you want to be sure that you can get over the fence again in a hurry because the Old Maids are painfully suspicious of us West Housers. One year the hired man caught two fellows and locked them up in the shed and telephoned to Horace. And they got the dickens; pretty near fired, they were. If you get caught over there now it means suspension, at least.”
“It’s rather dangerous, then, isn’t it?” asked Cal.