“No. I’d rather not. Besides, it isn’t ours,” Carolyn May returned virtuously.
“But there’s so much of it,” urged Freda. “I’m sure Mr. Lardner wouldn’t care—nor Mrs. Lardner, either.”
“But—but maybe it isn’t molasses,” Carolyn May suggested.
“I bet it is m’lasses,” declared Amos with a longing look.
“You try it, Amos,” ordered Freda, handing him the cup.
“Yes,” said Carolyn May coolly. “You’re a boy, and boys don’t mind messing into things. Just taste it, Amos.”
“Go on, Amos,” added Freda. “I dare you. I double-double dare you!”
Of course, Amos, boylike, could not take a dare, so he dipped the tin cup into the yellow, foamy mass and took a good big swallow. Then the trouble began.
He dropped the cup into the barrel, where it immediately disappeared from sight, while Amos hopped about, sputtering, coughing, crying, and generally acting like a boy distracted.
“Oh, I’m pizened! I’m pizened!” he bawled. “And you girls done it! I’m—I’m goin’ to tell my mother!”