“I’ll help you,” Jud replied promptly and, setting down the poles, rolled up his sleeves.
While the two boys were cleaning and polishing the glass Tom Bullard happened to turn into the lane from King Street. It was clear that he had not expected to meet the boys and did not want them to see him; for he had no sooner spied them than he stopped and made as if to turn back; but Jud’s sharp eyes had already caught sight of him. “Here’s the chicken-thief, Don,” he whispered.
Don stopped work to look. It is to Tom’s credit perhaps that he did not turn on his heel then and there. What he did was to lift his chin a trifle and, choosing the opposite side of the street, march past without looking either to the right or to the left. It was really a hard thing to do, for Don and Jud were staring at him and grinning frankly.
“He’s got his head pretty high, hasn’t he?” said Jud in a loud whisper.
“But not high enough to hide that bump above his left eye,” replied Don.
“That’s where Fred’s stick landed,” said Jud. “Just look how high he holds his head—just like a chicken!”
Both boys chuckled, and a moment later they laughed outright when Tom’s foot struck an upraised brick, and he stumbled. At the corner of Water Street, Tom turned and shook his fist.
Jud’s eyes flashed, but Don was silent. “And to think,” he said at last, “that he used to be my best friend!”
“He’s not worth thinking about,” said Jud shortly. “Come on, Don, let’s finish these windows in a hurry. I wonder how the fish are biting?”
But there were other things beside fish to wonder about on that day in early May. The people of Boston knew little enough of what was going on round them. Every other person was wondering how soon the American army would attack the British, and whether the Redcoats would risk going out and fighting in the open. Already there had been skirmishes and they continued to occur off and on throughout the rest of the month; but although the Americans were generally successful, the skirmishes really did not amount to much.