‘Pretty?’ Pud considered briefly. ‘Well, I guess maybe she looked better than she did that other time, but she’s awfully skinny!’ ‘I don’t think she’s skinny,’ defended Tim warmly. ‘Of course she isn’t what you might call _fat_, like――well, like――’ ‘She’s skinny,’ declared Pud flatly. ‘Say, I wish I’d asked her one question, Tim, just one question!’ ‘What’s that?’ inquired Tim. ‘Because,’ chuckled Pud, ‘she’d have had to tell the truth, with her father there and everything.’ ‘What question?’ ‘Why,’ Pud snickered, ‘whether he spanked her or not! I’ll bet you anything he did!’ CHAPTER XXII THE PIRATES RETURN They made surprisingly good time to the mouth of Fox River and then covered six of the seven miles that lay between that point and Livermore in an hour and twenty minutes. It certainly seemed as though the launch knew it was going home and wanted to get there! It was still only a little past four o’clock, and they might have got back to Millville that night if it had not been for their promise to call on the sheriff. Of course, they would have had to finish the voyage in early darkness, but Pud had done so much night navigation that the thought brought no dismay. But there was the agreement with Sheriff Bowker to be considered, and so, instead of keeping on past the city, they looked for a place to spend the night. Tim didn’t think much of the idea of looking up the sheriff, and said so more than once. ‘What’s he want to see us for?’ he asked. ‘We told him all we knew, didn’t we? Suppose he wants to put us in jail as witnesses. They do that sometimes. Or suppose he heard about that chicken! I say let’s go on home, Pud.’ ‘No, sir, we can’t do that. We promised. Besides, that Mr. Casey said it would be to our――our advantage, didn’t he?’ ‘Oh, gosh, they’ll say anything to get you in their clutches, the police will!’ ‘The sheriff isn’t the police,’ said Pud. ‘He’s different.’ ‘He arrests folks just the same, doesn’t he? I don’t see much difference!’ ‘Well, you will. Anyway, we said we’d do it and we’ve just got to, haven’t we?’ ‘I suppose so,’ replied Tim regretfully. The best they could discover as a tent-site was the edge of a brick-yard, an unattractive place littered with old cans and broken bricks and exposed to the public view on all sides. Indeed, a line of trolley cars buzzed past only a short block distant. But they could see nothing better, and they were rapidly approaching the wharves of the town. So they put the launch as close to the muddy shore as possible and landed by means of the skiff. It was not until they had the tent ashore that Tim asked abruptly: ‘Say, Pud, know what day this is?’ Pud had to think a minute, but he finally said it was Saturday; adding, ‘What of it?’ ‘Then to-morrow will be Sunday,’ answered Tim triumphantly, ‘and I guess even sheriffs don’t go to business on Sunday!’