On the step was sitting a forlorn yellow puppy. As
we stared, Mr. Ladley stopped the boat, looked back at us, bent over,
placed a piece of liver on a platter, and reached it over to the dog.
Then, rising in the boat, he bowed, with his hat over his heart, in
our direction, sat down calmly, and rowed around the corner out of
sight.
Mr. Holcombe was in a frenzy of rage. He jumped up and down, shaking
his fist out the window after the retreating boat. He ran down the
staircase, only to come back and look out the window again. The police
boat was not in sight, but the Maguire children had worked their raft
around to the street and were under the window. He leaned out and
called to them.
"A quarter each, boys," he said, "if you'll take me on that raft to
the nearest pavement."
"Money first," said the oldest boy, holding his cap.
But Mr. Holcombe did not wait. He swung out over the window-sill,
holding by his hands, and lit fairly in the center of the raft.
"Don't touch anything in that room until I come back," he called to
me, and jerking the pole from one of the boys, propelled the raft with
amazing speed down the street.
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