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They were positively alarming in their determination to get out, their wrath with one another, and their vociferous discontent with the whole situation. "I can't hold my bag much longer," said poor little Arnold Carruth. "Hush up, cry-baby!" whispered Lily, fiercely, in spite of a clawing paw emerging from her own bag and threatening her bare arm. Then came the shoes.
Johnny Trumbull was confident that he was the last one to see little Lucy, and so were Lily Jennings and Amelia Wheeler, and so were Jim Patterson and Bubby Harvey and Arnold Carruth and Lee Westminster and many others; but when pinned down to the actual moment everybody disagreed, and only one thing was certain little Lucy Rose was missing. "What shall I say to her father?" moaned Madame.
Johnny snorted, fairly snorted. "If," said he, "you think my father keeps his money where we can get it, you are mistaken, Arnold Carruth. My father's money is all in papers that are not worth much now and that he has to keep in the bank till they are." Arnold smiled hopefully. "Guess that's the way my papa keeps HIS money."
"And I couldn't bring the potatoes, because the outside cellar door was locked," said Arnold Carruth. "I had to go down the back stairs and out the south door, and the inside cellar door opens out of our dining-room, and I daren't go in there." "Then we might as well go home," said Johnny Trumbull.
What HAVE you got on, Arnold Carruth?" Arnold slouched before his companions, ridiculous but triumphant. He hitched up a leg of the riding-breeches and displayed a long, green silk stocking. Both Johnny and Lily doubled up with laughter. "What you laughing at?" inquired Arnold, crossly. "Oh, nothing at all," said Lily. "Only you do look like a scarecrow broken loose. Doesn't he, Johnny?"
It is not what your father would like; it is what that poor old lady would like." It was too much for Arnold. He gaped at Johnny. "If you are going to be mean and stingy, we may as well stop before we begin," said Johnny. Then Arnold Carruth recovered himself. "Old Mr. Webster Payne is awful poor," said he. "We might take some of your father's money and give it to him."
He was grateful for financial independence, but the idea of taking up the bathtub business struck him with dismay. So with prudent forethought he sought out Amory Carruth, a lawyer of his acquaintance; and to him explained his dilemma. It required some measure of specious ingenuity to explain his errand as he wished; but Mr.
They would be much more likely to accuse poor little Andrew Jackson Green, because he has a snub nose and is a bit cross-eyed, and I never knew that poor child to do anything except obey rules and learn his lessons. He is almost too good. And another worst of it is, nobody can help loving that little imp of a Carruth boy, mischief and all. I believe the scamp knows it and takes advantage of it."
"If," said the treble voice, "you are going to steal dear little kitty cats and get nice homes for them, I'm going to help." The voice belonged to Lily Jennings, who had stood on the other side of the Japanese cedars and heard every word. Both boys started in righteous wrath, but Arnold Carruth was the angrier of the two. "Mean little cat yourself, listening," said he.
The rich folks would be poor, and the poor folks wouldn't stay rich; they would be lazier, and get more drink. I don't see any sense in doing things like that in this town. There are a few poor folks I have been thinking we might take some money for and do good, but not many." "Who?" inquired Arnold Carruth, in awed tones. "Well, there is poor old Mrs. Sam Little. She's awful poor.