e
old and the other young.

And, say, you talk about your excitin' tableaux! In about two shakes
there's all kinds of excitement; for it seems one of the new arrivals is
Hadley's mommer, and she proceeds to join the riot.

"Oh, my darling boy! My darling!" she sings out. "What is happening! He
is being killed! Oh, he is being killed!"

"G'wan!" says I, gettin' up and exhibitin' the squirt gun. "I was only
handin' him some of the same sport he's been dealin' out to others.
It'll do him good."

"You--you young scoundrel!" says mommer. Then, turnin' to the old lady
who came in with her, she gasps out, "Zenobia, telephone for the
police!"

It's the real thing, too, and no flossy bluff about the lady's grouch.
She's a swell, haughty-lookin' party, and she acts like she was used to
havin' her own way about things. So the prospects begin to look squally.
Not that I'm one to curl up and shiver at sight of a cop. Give me plenty
of room to do the hotfoot act, and I don't mind guyin' any of them
pavement-pounders; but with me shut up in a house where I hadn't been
invited in, and a bunch of excited females as witnesses against me, it's
a diff'rent proposition. This was no time to weaken, though.

"Go ahead," says I. "Double six-O-four-two Gramercy; that's the green
light number for this district. And Uncle Patrick'll be glad to see you.
Tell him you got charges to make on his nephew. That'll tickle him to
death. Maybe I'll have something to say when we all get there, too."

"What do you mean?" says Hadley's mother.

"Counter complaint, that's all," says I. "Your little darling soaked me
first."

"It--it isn't true!" says she. "I don't believe it!"

And here Zenobia comes in with the soothin' advice. She's another
whitehaired old lady, lookin' something like the one in the chair, only
not so bulky and with more ginger about her. "Now, Sally," says she,
"let's not talk of calling in the police over a trifle. Hadley doesn't
appear to be hurt, and possibly he was somewhat at fault."

"The idea!" says Sally. "Why, I saw this young ruffian pommeling him.
And look! Martha is bound in her chair. He's a burglar!"

Oh, they had a great debate amongst 'em, Aunt Martha fin'lly admittin'
it was just a little prank of Hadley's, her being roped down; but she
was sure I had tried to murder him, just for nothing at all. Hadley says
so too. In fact, he tells seven diff'rent yarns in as many minutes, each
one makin' me out worse than