"He's coming this way."
Several of the late assailants started on a run at once; but Dab Kinzer had caught a sharp whisper from Frank Harley, and he shouted,—
"No you won't, Joe Hart! Hold on, Fuz! That other chap must stay too.
Give Dick back his groceries."
"Dey's hooked a pile ob 'em," said Dick, his eyes dancing with triumph.
"Jes' make 'em hand ober."
"Do you mean to say we've been stealing?" fiercely demanded Joe.
"What, me? me, steal?" almost gasped Fuz.
"They wouldn't do such a thing as that," said Ford, not quite comprehending the situation.
"That's it," said Dab: "let 'em empty their pockets"—
Joe was indignantly turning inside out the side pockets of his neat "cut-away," and a small, brown-paper-covered parcel dropped upon the ground.
"Dem's de cloves," shouted Dick, as he darted forward, and picked it up.