Dick waited until after tea to go up the street for his eggs, so as to carry them directly to the rendezvous. As the party was to be kept a profound secret from everybody, he thought best to put the eggs in his pockets. He did this very carefully, knowing the frail nature of eggs as well as any one.
But soon one of his school-mates spied him, and announced the fact by a stinging slap on the shoulder. Of course Dick returned fire, and the action soon became so lively that the forgotten eggs suffered considerable damage.
"Here I am, boys!" he shouted, as he dashed into Tom Fleming's room; "and here are the eggs."
Dick dived his hand into his pocket, and withdrew it in dismay. "I do believe every one of the old things is broken."
The boys all gathered round, and a dish was produced to receive the contents of Dick's pockets.
Dick regarded his possessions ruefully. It was not only the loss of the eggs, but there was his new Russia-leather pocket-book, a present only last Christmas. The knife and other things might be cleaned up, but the pocket-book was ruined. The thought of what Aunt Sue would say when she came to clean his pockets decided him to do what he could in that way himself.
The milk was now inquired for, and, to the consternation of several of the boys, was reported missing.
"Whew!" said Tom, "you Stanleys are getting off cheap. However, it is my treat, so I will say nothing. Can't you make a cake without milk, Bob?"
"Yes, just as easy. You can use water, but you ought to have had your kettle boiling."