“I guess I just imagined it,” said The Fungus. “Now let’s fix this place in our minds, Cal. If we walk diagonally across from the woodshed toward the big chestnut tree we’ll get it all right, won’t we? That’s easy. Don’t forget to bring your pillow-case tonight. We’ll come over here about half-past ten.”
“I—I don’t believe I will,” said Cal. “I wouldn’t want to get suspended, you see.” The Fungus viewed him amazedly.
“Who would?”
“Well, you said if we got caught—”
“If! But we’re not going to get caught. That’s the difference. Oh, you’ll come all right. If you don’t, you’ll be awfully sorry when you see the apples we bring back. They’re perfect corkers! Those big red ones—” But words failed him and he contented himself with licking his lips and looking unutterable bliss.
“Do the women live there all by themselves?” asked Cal as they returned to the tennis court.
“Yes, with some servants. There’s a big truck-garden beyond the orchard and another house where the hired man lives. They’ve got about fifteen acres there, I think. They’re awfully rich, the Old Maids are. They own about half the clock factory back of town, by the river. You’d think they’d be more generous with their apples, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe they’d give us some if we went and asked,” replied Cal innocently.
“Huh! Who wants apples that are given to you? All the fun comes in swiping them and not knowing whether someone is going to pop out at you any minute!”