She nodded. The door swung back again as Sid DuPree and Silvey stamped noisily in. It developed that they were on a similar errand, and presently Miss Thomas cut the cord around the big, blue bundle and gave them their weapons. The trio left in high spirits, puffing through the empty tubes, making imaginary shots at open windows, and blustering loudly about past performances, as they sauntered along. Silvey halted when the first of the grocery shops near the home corner was reached. "Got any peas at your house, Sid?" Sid shook his head. His family dined at a near-by hotel most of the time, and a reserve stock of any kind of food was a rarity. John mentioned a big jar of beans on his mother's pantry shelf. "They're no good," said Silvey scornfully. "Get stuck in the pea shooter and jam it all up. Got any money, Sid?" Sid had a penny. It was the day before the generous allowance from Mr. DuPree was due, and his finances verged upon bankruptcy. Silvey had another, and John contributed the remainder of his little hoard. That brought the total to four cents. "S'pose he'll sell us that little?" asked John, as they gazed at the tempting array of vegetables in the store window. They opened the door timidly. The rotund proprietor stepped forward as he stammered his request. "Of course!" He beamed on the trio good-naturedly. "What kind do you want, boys?" "Split's the cheapest," said Silvey thoughtfully. "But they don't go as far, and it's harder to hit anything with them." They ordered the more expensive projectiles and divided them equally before they left the store. At the corner, the pharmacy was bombarded persistently until the drug apprentice sprang through the doorway and sent the boys flying down the street. The pursuit slackened at last and the white coated youth turned to go back. Silvey halted to pant a defiant "Ya-a-a, ya-a-a. Can't catch us. Can't catch us." John pulled his chum's arm impatiently and pointed to the vacant house just three lots south of Silvey's home. "Look," he whispered, suddenly cautious. "Some one's forgotten to close the front door tight. We can lock it from the inside and go up to the attic. Nobody can get in to chase us, and we won't do a thing with our pea shooters, oh, no!" "Maybe the folks haven't left. You can't tell." "We can run, then. 'Sides, they won't do anything." They crossed the street and tiptoed up the dusty, rain-spotted veranda steps. John peered into the bleak, dirty parlor and reported the coast clear. Nevertheless, they hesitated on the very threshold. "You go first," said Sid to Silvey. "All right," Silvey nodded apathetically. He peered in at the window. "You don't think there's anyone inside, do you, fellows?" The trio listened intently. "Might be someone upstairs," suggested Sid. "Tramps or something." "Shucks," broke in John impatiently. "You're all 'fraid cats, that's what you are." "Go on in, yourself," Bill retorted quickly.