“Not without being strapped in, I bet you didn’t.” “I bet I did.” “I bet you can’t prove it.” “I bet I can only the feller is in New York.” “When you stayed away at night, I bet you didn’t stay with gipsies. I did.” “I bet I helped to arrest gipsies,” Hinkey said. “That’s nothing, I bet I got arrested,” said Hervey. “I bet you never did.” “What do you bet?” “I bet you a ride in my car.” “Where to?” “_You_ got arrested! I have to laugh.” “You think only fellers that live in New York can get arrested?” “Here comes another band player,” Hinkey said, and raising his voice in a way of mockery, he paraphrased the familiar song. “Oh listen to the band, Oh don’t you think it’s punk.” “He walks cissified,” he concluded. “Look, he’s got a satchel.” “He’s got a cornet or some kind of a trumpet in it,” said Hervey. “One of them has a long bag with a saxaphone in it--I saw it once.” “Oh listen to the village band Oh merrily they make a noise like tin pans.” sang Harlem Hinkey, and he whistled a kind of insolent accompaniment as the young man came tripping diagonally across the street. It must be confessed that this late arriving member had a decidedly effeminate trip as he came hurrying along and there was a crude humor to Hinkey’s accurately timed mockery. “He doesn’t see us,” whispered Hinkey. “I tell you what let’s do; let’s sneak up behind and trip him up and grab the bag and then we’ll beat it around the side and we’ll blow the trumpet good and loud through the window. Hey? We’ll give them a good scare. See them jump, hey?” This was a crude enough practical joke, to be sure. It was characteristic of Hinkey; it was his particular style of mischief. It had not any of the heroic quality of a stunt. It was not in the class with Hervey’s deeds of glory. To do our hero credit, to give the devil his due as they say, he would never have originated this silly joke. But it was not in his nature to back out of anything. He always moved forward. “You trip him up and I’ll grab the bag,” he said. “Then I’ll beat it around and climb up on the window sill and I’ll give it a good loud blow. I can climb up there better than you can, I bet you.” It was amusing how in this wanton enterprise his thought focused upon the one really skilful feature of it--the vaulting on to the high window ledge. “Oh bimbo,” he added with relish. There _was_ something inviting in the thought of tripping up a young fellow with such a mincing gait. If it were ever justifiable to trip _anybody_ up he would be the sort of fellow who ought to be tripped. The two boys made a masterful and silent flank move to the rear of the hurrying figure. But when it came to tripping him, Harlem Hinkey fell back and it was Hervey who, dextrously projecting his foot, sent the young musician sprawling.