helped themselves liberally to the
contents of the two bags.

There was a convenient fence a few steps along the street and they
perched themselves on the top rail and consumed the peanuts and candy
and watched the "rush of the great city," to again quote the poetic Tim.
During the next twenty minutes exactly eight carriages and four
automobiles entered their range of vision; and at that Clint insisted
that they had counted one automobile twice. He accused it of going
around the block in order to add to the confusion. Possibly some three
dozen people passed within sight, although that may have been a too
liberal estimate. Tom at last declared that he couldn't stand the
excitement any longer; that his brain reeled and his eyes ached; and
that he was going to find a quiet spot far from the dizzy whirl. So they
adjourned to the grocery and butcher shop and talked learnedly of loins
and shoulders and ribs. And Clint dragged what he alluded to as a
"brisket" into the conversation to the confusion of the others, who had
never heard of it and didn't believe in it anyway. Tom said Clint meant
"biscuit" and that this wasn't a bakery. Then he caught sight of some
rather pathetic and unseasonable radishes and, having a passion for
radishes, went in and purchased four bunches. That outlay led to an
expenditure for salt, and as a large, round pasteboard carton of it was
the least they could buy, they retreated down the street to the Inn
porch, trickled the salt along the top of the railing, drew up chairs
and consumed the radishes at their leisure. All, that is, save Tim. Tim
didn't like radishes, called them "fire-crackers" and pretended to be
deeply disgusted with his companions for eating them.

When the radishes were consumed they invaded the Inn and assaulted the
water tank in force. Then, as there were practically no sights left to
be viewed, they went back to their chairs and, as Tom had it, waited
for inspiration. Don was for trolleying over to the shore, having a dip
in the ocean and returning to school in good time. But Tim pointed out
that the trolley line was a good half-mile distant, that he had not
filled himself with radishes and was consequently quite famished for
food and favoured remaining within easy distance of the Inn so that, in
case he grew faint, he could reach sustenance. Don's motion was
defeated. In view of what eventually occurred, that was, perhaps,
unfortunate.

CHAPTER VII

FIGHTING FIRE