a hunk," he demanded.
He should have put it more gently. He should have condescended a little to the amenities, for his imperious tone at once dried a generous spring of philanthropy. He was to regret this lack of a mere superficial polish that would have cost him nothing.
"Ho! Go buy it like we did!" retorted the host, crisply.
"Is that so?" queried the newcomer with rising warmth.
"Yes, sat's so!"
"Who says it's so?"
"I say it's so!"
This was seemingly futile; seemingly it got them nowhere, for the newcomer again demanded: "Is that so?"
They seemed to have followed a vicious circle. But in reality they were much farther along, for the mendicant had carelessly worked himself to a point where he could reach for the half circle of bologna still undivided, and the treasure was now snatched from this fate by the watchful legal owner.
"Hold that!" he commanded one of his creatures, and rose quickly to his feet.
"Is that so?" repeated the unimaginative newcomer.
"Yes, that's so!" affirmed the Wilbur twin once again.
"I guess I got as much right here as you got!"
This was a shifty attempt to cloud the issue. No one had faintly questioned his right to be there.
"Ho! Gee, gosh!" snapped the Wilbur twin, feeling vaguely that this was irrelevant talk.
"Think you own this whole town, don't you?" demanded the aggressor.
"Ho! I guess I own it as much as what you do!"
The Wilbur twin knew perfectly that this was not the true issue, yet he felt compelled to accept it.
"For two beans I'd punch you in the eye."
"Oh, you would, would you?" Each of the disputants here took a step backward.
"Yes, I would, would you!" This was a try at mockery.
"Yes, you would not!"
"Yes, I would!"
"You're a big liar!"
The newcomer at this betrayed excessive rage.
"What's that? You just say that again!" He seemed unable to believe his shocked ears.
"You heard what I said—you big liar, liar, liar!"
"You take that back!"
Here the newcomer flourished clinched fists and began to prance. The Wilbur twin crouched, but was otherwise motionless. The newcomer continued to prance alarmingly and to wield his arms as if against an invisible opponent. Secretly he had no mind to combat. His real purpose became presently clear. It was to intimidate and confuse until he should be near enough the desired delicacy to snatch it and run. He was an excellent runner. His opponent perceived this—the evil glance of desire and intention under all the flourish of arms. Something had to be done. Without warning he leaped upon the invader and bore him to earth. There he punched, jabbed, gouged, and scratched as they writhed together. A moment of this and the prostrate foe was heard to scream with the utmost sincerity. The Wilbur twin was startled, but did not relax his hold.
"You let me up from here!" the foe was then heard to cry.
The Wilbur twin watchfully rose from his mount, breathing heavily. He seized his cap and drew it tightly over dishevelled locks.
"I guess that'll teach you a good lesson!" he warned when he had breath for it.
The vanquished Hun got to his feet, one hand over an eye. He was abundantly blemished and his nose bled. His sense of dignity had been outraged and his head hurt.
"You get the hell and gone out of here!" shouted the Wilbur twin, quite as if he did own the town.
"I must say! Cursing and swearing!" shrilled the Merle twin, but none heeded him.
The repulsed enemy went slowly to the corner of the alley. Here he turned to recover a moment of dignity.
"You just wait till I catch you out some day!" he roared back with gestures meant to terrify. But this was his last flash. He went on his way, one hand still to the blighted eye.
Now it developed that the two boys who had waited the Hun had profited cunningly by the brawl. They had approached at its beginning—a fight was anybody's to watch—they had applauded its dénouement with shrill and hearty cries, and they now felicitated the victor.
"Aw, that old Tod McNeil thinks he can fight!" said one, and laughed in harsh derision.
"I bet this kid could lick him any day in the week!" observed his companion.
This boy, it was now seen, led a dog on a rope, a half-grown dog that would one day be large. He was now heavily clad in silken wool of richly mixed colours—brown, yellow, and bluish gray—and his eyes were still the pale blue of puppyhood.
Both newcomers had learned the unwisdom of abrupt methods of approaching this wealthy group. They conducted themselves with modesty; they were polite, even servile, saying much in praise of the warrior twin. The one with the dog revealed genius for this sort of thing, and insisted on feeling the warrior's muscle. The flexed bicep appeared to leave him aghast at its hardness and immensity. He insisted that his companion should feel it, too.
"Have some bologna?" asked the warrior. He would doubtless have pressed bologna now on Tod McNeil had that social cull stayed by.
"Oh!" said the belated guests, surprised at the presence of bologna thereabouts.
They uttered profuse thanks for sizable segments of the now diminished circle. It was then that the Wilbur twin took pleased notice of the dog. He was a responsive animal, grateful for notice from any one. Receiving a morsel of the bologna he instantly engulfed it and overwhelmed the giver with rough but hearty attentions.
"Knows me already," said the now infatuated Wilbur.
"Sure he does!" agreed the calculating owner. "He's a smart dog. He's the smartest dog ever I see, and I seen a good many dogs round this town."
"Have some more bologna," said Wilbur.
"Thanks," said the dog owner, "just a mite."
The dog, receiving another bit, gave further signs of knowing the donor. No cynic was present to intimate that the animal would instantly know any giver of bologna.
"What's his name?" demanded Wilbur.
The owner hesitated. He had very casually acquired the animal but a few hours before; he now attached no value to him, and was minded to be rid of him, nor had the dog to his knowledge any name whatever.
"His name is Frank," he said, his imagination being slow to start.
"Here, Frank! Here, Frank!" called Wilbur, and
