“Here comes Bluster,” said Jud, stepping into a doorway on King Street to let the Redcoat pass. “I don’t want him to see me.”
When the sergeant-major had passed, the boys made their way hurriedly to Don’s house in Pudding Lane, which they reached shortly before eleven o’clock.
“Well,” said Aunt Martha, “did you hear anything of interest at the hall?”
“Did we?” repeated Don. “You tell what happened, Jud!”
And Jud told her, not omitting the incident of the snuff-box. And when he had finished, Don thought his aunt laughed more heartily than she had laughed since the blockade began. “I’m glad you boys went,” she said. “I’m glad you could see the fine officers discomfited. They deserve it for the way some of them have acted.”
Jud was suddenly thoughtful. “What in the world will I tell fat Bluster if he ever asks me about the snuff-box?” he inquired.
“Tell him the truth, Judson,” said Aunt Martha. “But don’t tell him unless he asks you,” she added with a smile.
“I’ll tell you what to tell him,” said Don. “Tell him that the last time he used snuff he sneezed and blew the box over the Old South Meeting-House, and that when it came down it landed right on top of his hat.”
“Donald!” exclaimed his aunt. “Now you boys scat to bed—quick!”
“That’s the second time we’ve been scatted to-night,” said Jud as he followed Don up-stairs.