Tom Slade | Page 4

no pint widout de money."
"He wouldn', wouldn' he? I'll pint you!"
"I ain't goin' ter graft on him no more."
"Git me a dime off Tony then and stop in Billy's comin' back 'n' tell
him I got the cramps agin and can't work."
"He'll gimme the laugh."
"I'll give ye the other kind of a laugh if ye don't beat it. I left you sleep
till eleven o'clock--"
"You didn' leave me sleep," said Tom. "Yer only woke up yerself half
an hour ago."
"Yer call me a liar, will ye?" roared Bill Slade, rising.
Tom took his usual strategic position on the opposite side of the table,
and as his father moved ominously around it, kept the full width of it

between them. When he reached a point nearest the sink he grabbed a
dented pail therefrom and darted out and down the stairs.
Up near Grantley Square was a fence which bore the sign, "Post No
Bills." How this had managed to escape Tom hitherto was a mystery,
but he now altered it, according to the classic hoodlum formula, so that
it read, "Post No Bills," and headed up through the square for Barney
Galloway's saloon. Bill Slade had been reduced to long-distance
intercourse in the matter of saloons for he had exhausted his credit in
all the places near Barrel Alley.
In the spacious garden of John Temple's home a girl of twelve or
thirteen years was bouncing a ball. This was Mary Temple, and what
business "old" John Temple had with such a pretty and graceful little
daughter, I am not qualified to explain.
"Chuck it out here," said Tom, "an' I'll ketch it in the can."
She retreated a few yards into the garden, then turned, and gave Tom a
withering stare.
"Chuck it out here and I'll chuck it back--honest," called Tom.
The girl's dignity began to show signs of collapse. She wanted to have
that ball thrown, and to catch it.
"Will you promise to toss it back?" she weakened.
"Sure."
"Word and honor?"
"Sure."
"Cross your heart?"
"Sure."
Still she hesitated, arm in air.

"Will you promise to throw it back?"
"Sure, hope to die. Chuck it."
"Get back a little," said she.
The ball went sailing over the paling, Tom caught it, gave a yell of
triumph, beat a tattoo upon the can, and ran for all he was worth.
Outside the saloon Tom borrowed ten cents from Tony, the bootblack,
on his father's behalf, and with this he purchased the beer.
Meanwhile, the bad turn which he had done had begun to sprout and by
the time he reached home it had grown and spread to such proportions
that Jack's beanstalk was a mere shrub compared with it. Nothing was
farther from John Temple's thoughts that beautiful Saturday than to pay
a visit to Barrel Alley. On the contrary, he was just putting on his new
spring hat to go out to the Country Club for a turn at golf, when Mary
came in crying that Tom Slade had stolen her ball.
Temple cared nothing about the ball, nor a great deal about Mary's tears,
but the mention of Tom Slade reminded him that the first of the month
was close at hand and that he had intended to "warn" Bill Slade with
the usual threat of eviction. Bill had never paid the rent in full after the
second month of his residence in Barrel Alley. When he was working
and Temple happened to come along at a propitious moment, Bill
would give him two dollars or five dollars, as the case might be, but as
to how the account actually stood he had not the slightest idea.
If Tom had not sent Mary Temple into the house crying her father
would never have thought to go through Barrel Alley on his way out to
the Country Club, but as it was, when Tom turned into the Alley from
Main Street, he saw Mr. Temple's big limousine car standing in front of
his own door.
If there was one thing in this world more than another dear to the heart
of Tom Slade, it was a limousine car. Even an Italian organgrinder did
not offer the mischievous possibilities of a limousine. He had a regular

formula for the treatment of limousines which was as sure of success as
a "cure all."
Placing his pail inside the doorway, he approached the chauffeur with a
suspiciously friendly air which boded mischief. After a strategic word
or two of cordiality, he grasped the siren horn, tooted it frantically,
pulled the timer aroundr opened one of the doors, jumped in and out of
the opposite door, leaving both open, and retreated as far as the corner,
calling, "Yah-h-h-h-h!"
In a few minutes he returned very