"Set down, Custer!" commanded his mother sharply. "You ain't going out! You know your pa don't allow you to go to no fires after night."
"You don't call this night!" He was edging toward the door.
"Yes, I do!"
"A quarter after seven ain't night!" he expostulated.
"No arguments, Custer! You sit down! I won't have you trapesing about the streets."
Custer turned back from the door and resumed his seat.
"Why don't they give the ward? I never heard such a fool way of ringing for a fire!" he said.
They were silent, intent and listening. Now the wind was driving the sound clamorously across the town.
"They ain't give the ward yet!" said Custer at length, in a tone of great disgust. "I could ring for a fire better than that!"
"I wish your pa was to home!" said Mrs. Shrimplin.