"Please take your sticky fingers off of my neck," said he; "I won't try to run."
"You promise?" asked Al Bumen.
"I do, cross my heart and hope to die," said Billy eagerly.
"Well, I don't believe you, I can't believe any body in Eggs-Aggeration."
Poor Billy hung his head in shame as he was led along the street like a common criminal. He tried two or three times to pull away, but Al Bumen's arm would stretch out like a rubber band and then "snap," Billy would bounce back like a return ball.
"There, now, what did I tell you," said Al Bumen, "that's the second time that you have tried to escape and you said you wouldn't."
"But you wouldn't take my word."
"Of course not, I have no use for your word, I have plenty of my own. And anyway, how could you keep your word if you gave it to me."
My, my, my, what a day it was for the inhabitants of Eggs-Aggeration. They had seen Eggs beaten, and taken up by the Police, but never a boy. The Scramble Egg children tumbled along at Billy's side, shouting and rolling over and over in their glee. Mothers brought their little cradled Egg babies out to see him pass—even poor "Addle," the village egg idiot, made faces at him; only Billy felt sorry for him because he could see that he was cracked. But when some of the bad little street boys threw stones at him, even Al Bumen was angry—indeed, they barely missed his head two or three times.
"Stop it," he cried, "I know you every one, you are the Strictly boys."