“Never!” shouted Step defiantly.
The Shark stared at the retreating figure. “I’ll be hanged if the whole bunch oughtn’t to be back in the kindergarten,” was his comment. “Of all idiocies! You plumb make me tired, Step—you and that runaway pal of yours!”
“But you wouldn’t get his cap for him if you were in my place,” Step insisted.
“But I’m not in your place,” said the Shark drily.
Sam shook his head. “Let’s stop this squabbling, fellows. One row’s enough at a time. Or, better yet, let’s end one without starting another.”
The Shark’s expression was thoughtful. “If we have ended one,” said he. “Orkney’s a queer duck. There may be more to this ridiculous affair than we dream.”
CHAPTER IX
POKE AND STEP PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER
Memory of the successful raid by Mr. Mercer’s big hound and its unhappy results rankled in the breasts of Poke and Step.
It was one thing, they agreed, to be joint victims of hard luck; but it was quite another thing—and a deal harder to endure—to behold the author of their misfortunes jogging about the streets, wholly unpunished for his misdeeds. Step even had a gloomy notion that the dog was plumper than usual, which, if well founded, was higher tribute to the nourishing qualities of the looted chicken than to the prevalence of even-handed justice, to Step’s way of thinking. This view, confided to Poke, met ready acceptance.
“Sure thing! And there ought to be something we could do about it,” observed Poke.