"We'll have to have some water to wash off this stuff before she'll let us in to—to apologize," wheedled Billiard.
"Are you going to apologize?"
"Looks like we got to," answered the older boy gloomily. "She's a reg'lar cyclone. Smashed up half our things already, and like enough she will sick the sheriff on us like she said, 'nless we do—er—apologize."
It was very evident that Billiard was not in the habit of apologizing for anything; and Toady, grinning with no little satisfaction at his brother's discomfiture, arose and slowly descended by a roundabout trail to the cottage. He was gone a long time and Billiard was growing decidedly restless and anxious when he appeared in sight once more. "She's—they are going to write to Uncle Hogan!" he announced breathlessly.
"Uncle Hogan!" cried Billiard in dismay.
"Yes, that's just what I heard them say. Mercedes told her how Uncle Hogan——"
"I'll get even with Miss Mercedes," Billiard interrupted fiercely.
"You better get that paint off your face and hike for the house with your apology," advised the more easily persuaded brother, "else you'll never have a chance to get even with anybody again."
"Why?"
"Because if we don't promise to be good inside of an hour, they are going to ask the—the—some man, sort of a policeman, I guess, to look after us until Uncle Hogan answers."