Bob the Castaway | Page 3

anythin'. Let me watch, will yer?"
"I don't s'pose I can stop you," replied Bob, with an appearance of lofty virtue. "The street's public property. I haven't any right to say you shan't stand in front of Bill's store until I come out. You can if you want to."
"Maybe I won't then!" exclaimed Ted.
"Better not walk along with me," advised Bob. "Folks might think we were up to something."
"That's so. Like when we burned some feathers under the church when they were having prayer meeting."
"Don't speak so loud," cautioned Bob. "You'll give things away."
Thus admonished, Ted took a position well to his chum's rear. Meanwhile Bob continued on and was soon at the grocery store.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Hodge," he said politely.
"Arternoon," replied Mr. Hodge, for he was not fond of boys, least of all Bob Henderson. "What d' you want?"
He had an air as if he was saying:
"Now none of your tricks, you young rapscallion! If you play any jokes on me you'll smart for it!"
"Mother wants a pound of lard--the best lard, Mr. Hodge," said Bob.
"I don't keep any but the best."
"Then I want a pound. It's a fine day, isn't it?"
"I don't see nothin' the matter with it. 'Tain't rainin' anyhow. Now don't you upset anything while I go fer the lard. I have t' keep it down cellar, it's so hot up here."
Bob knew this. In fact, he counted on it for what he was about to do. No sooner had the storekeeper started down the cellar stairs than Bob pulled from his pocket a long, stout piece of cord. He quickly fastened one end of it to the spigot of a molasses barrel, which stood about half way back in the store. Then he ran the cord forward and across the doorway, about six inches from the floor, and fastened the other end to a barrel of flour as a sort of anchor.
By this time Mr. Hodge was coming upstairs with the lard in a thin wooden dish, a piece of paper being over the top. Bob stood near the counter piling the scale weights up in a regular pyramid.
"Here, let them alone," growled the storekeeper. "Fust thing you know they'll fall an' mebby crack."
"I wouldn't have that happen," said Bob earnestly, but with a lurking smile on his lips. "How much is the lard, Mr. Hodge?"
"Fourteen cents. It's gone up."
"Something else will be going down soon," murmured Bob.
He paid over the money, took the lard and started out. As soon as he reached the front stoop of the store he gave a hasty look around. He saw Ted dodging behind a tree across the street. Suddenly Bob opened his mouth and let out a yell like that which an Indian might have given when on the warpath. It was a shriek as if some one had been hurt. Then he jumped off the porch and hid underneath it, one end being open.
An instant later Mr. Hodge, thinking some accident had happened, rushed to the front door of his store. But just as he reached it he went down in a heap, tripped by the string Bob had stretched across the opening.
The storekeeper was more surprised than hurt, for he was quite stout and his fat protected him. As he got up, muttering vengeance on whatever had upset him, he went to the door to look out. There was not a person in sight.
"It must have been that pesky Bob Henderson!" he exclaimed. "He's always yellin' an' shoutin'."
He turned back into the store, rubbing his shins. As he did so he uttered an exclamation of dismay. And well he might, for the spigot of the molasses barrel was wide open, and the sticky brown fluid was running all over the floor.

CHAPTER II
ANOTHER PRANK
"Drat that boy!" cried Mr. Hodge. "I'll make him suffer fer this. I'll have him arrested fer malicious mischief, an' I'll sue his father. I'll see if I can't put a stop to sech nonsense."
He did not waste time in words, however, but hastened to shut the spigot of the molasses barrel to stop the wasteful flow. However, two gallons or more had run all over, the floor, making a sticky pool.
Meanwhile Bob had crawled out from under the stoop and had crossed the street to Join Ted.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.
"Did I?" asked Ted. "Well, I should say I did. It was great. How'd ye think of it?"
"Did I do anything?" asked Bob innocently. "I thought Bill Hodge stubbed his toe and fell. Probably he slipped in some molasses."
"Did you pull the spigot open?"
"Me? No, I didn't, but maybe the string did. I guess I've got to hurry home with this lard. Mom wants to make some pies."
Bob got home much sooner than his mother expected he would. He gave her the lard, and