"Willie, wait a minute. I want to ask you something."

Willie seemed to be in a great hurry. Nevertheless, he paused.

"Well?"

"Did your mother pay you that dime yesterday?"

"What dime?"

"That dime for those two quarts of berries that you and me picked together."

"O-oh!"

"Well, did she?"

"Did she? Of course she did!"

"Well, have you got my nickel?"

Willie looked at her scornfully.

"Of course I've got your nickel! Do you suppose I eat 'em?"

Margery was very sure that that was exactly what he would like to do with both their nickels—transmuted, that is to say, into eatable commodities. But she didn't care to lose time on verbal quibbles. She came to the point at once:

"Will you please give me my nickel now? I want it."

Willie squirmed impatiently.

"How can I give you your old nickel before I get the dime changed? I don't see what you're in such a rush for! Besides, I'm in a hurry. I got to see a fella."

Margery held out her hand.

"Give me the dime and Effie will change it for us. It won't take two minutes."

"Effie nuthin'! What do you think I am? I tell you, you got to wait! I'm in a hurry."

"And I tell you, Willie Jones, I'm not going to wait any longer! I've been waiting ever since yesterday afternoon, and now I've got you I'm going to stay right with you until you pay me!"

With a grunt of disgust Willie turned and ran. As the weakness of sex and the helplessness of young ladyhood had not yet had time to settle down upon her, Margery promptly ran after him. She was as good a runner as he was any day, so he was mightily mistaken if he thought he was going to get away by running. After a few moments he seemed to realize this, for he drew up, panting, and, with a change of tactics, turned a smiling face to Margery.

"Do you want to spend your nickel, Margery?"

Did she want to spend her nickel? What a question! Did he suppose she wanted to punch a hole in it and hang it around her neck?

"Of course I want to spend my nickel! And I want to spend it myself, too. I don't want no one else to spend it for me."

Willie lounged up to the window of a bakery shop.

"Jiminy, those cakes do look good!" He turned to her blandly. "Say, Margery, do you want me to buy some cakes?"

"No, I don't want you to buy some cakes! All I want is my nickel."

Willie sighed, and went back to the cakes. The longer he looked the hungrier he became. He sighed again.

"I just guess I'll have to buy some cakes—that's all there is about it. You can wait out here for me, Margery."

But Margery did not care to wait for him outside. Bakery shops sometimes have back doors that let out on little alleys. So Margery said:

"I think I'll just go in with you, Willie."

Willie knew the cakes he wanted, but, being a wary trader, he priced other kinds first.

"Them's two for a nickel," the German lady behind the counter told him, "and them's a cent apiece—ten cents a dozen. Oh, them's real expensive—five cents apiece."

Finally he pointed to the objects of his choice. They were long, thick, yellow cakes, fancifully encrusted with chocolate.

"Three for a nickel," the German lady said.

Willie sighed so hopelessly that the German lady relented.

"By rights, they're three for a nickel, but I tell you what I'll do: I'll make 'em to you a cent apiece. But you mustn't tell no one."

Willie promised he wouldn't, and bought two. In payment he offered the German lady a dime. Margery looked significantly at the change as the German lady counted it out; but Willie quite mechanically slipped it all into his pocket.

The German lady beamed on them kindly.

"Say, yous two can sit down at one of them little tables, if yous want to, and eat your cakes. By rights, only ten-cent orders can sit down, but I'll let yous this time."

"Thank you," Willie Jones said politely. "That'll be much nicer."

So they sat them down at an ice-cream table, and Willie at once proffered Margery his open bag.

"Don't you want a cake?"

In one sense Margery did want a cake, but under the circumstances she deemed it wise not to humor her appetite. So she said:

"No, thanks; I'm not hungry."

Willie gallantly urged, but Margery was firm, and at length he was forced to begin alone.

He ate with zest. Gazing at him, Margery had time to ask herself what in the world was possessing him to act so. If that nickel were owing to Henry, or to Freddy Larkin, or, in fact, to any boy, Margery knew with no possibility of doubt that Willie Jones would pay up at once. Among his own kind, he passed for a fellow that was honest and square, but for some reason, some utterly illogical but nevertheless generally accepted reason, just because she was a female creature, in dealing with her he felt at liberty to cast aside that code of conduct by which ordinarily he acted. And—if the outrage needed a climax—the rest of mankind, should they hear of Willie Jones's behavior, instead of turning from him with the cold shoulder of disapproval, would merely laugh amusedly. Oh, think of it! The injustice of things! The rank, the black injustice! Margery turned wild eyes to heaven to register her dumb but not for that reason any less vehement protest.

Willie, meantime, munched calmly on. As the moments passed, he ate more slowly. Naturally. The cakes he had so carefully selected were not hollow inside, but as solid as they looked, and consequently somewhat dry and crumbly. Dryness and crumbliness induce thirst, and thirst, as every one knows, is one of the first things to eat up a man's wealth. Willie Jones swallowed hard, and inquired:

"Would you like a glass of milk, Margery?"

"Would I like a glass of milk!" Margery's tone seemed to add: On my own money, I suppose you mean! Aloud she concluded: "I should say not! I can get milk at home."

Willie got up and went over to the counter.

"How much is your milk a glass?"

"Three cents," the German lady said.

Willie sighed, and turned sadly away. The German lady called him back.

"By rights it's three cents, but I'll give it to you for two."

Margery heard distinctly. Two cents for cakes, two cents for milk. Good! That left him one cent of his own money.

Willie Jones leisurely finished the last crumb of cake and drained his glass.

"Well, so long, Margery. I guess I better be going. I got to see a fella down in East Maplewood."

"Give me my nickel, Willie, or I'll have to go with you. I told you I would."

"Well, of course, Margery, you can come down to East Maplewood if you want to. But it's pretty far." He spoke as though the possible fatigue to Margery really concerned him.

Margery straightened her lips, and fell into step. She told herself that she was getting mad. The state of her feelings, however, seemed to have no effect upon her companion. He continued exasperatingly bland and friendly. At street crossings he warned her of the danger of approaching vehicles; he begged her to step this way or that in order not to muddy her shoes; and along the flower beds of Boulevard Place he insisted upon her telling him which she preferred, red geraniums or pink, and why.

As they came into East Maplewood his manner changed. A frown settled between his eyes, and he drew a long breath of rising indignation. He was deciding evidently that patience and forbearance had reached their limit. Stopping short in front of a little candy store, he turned upon Margery with a sudden grim threat in voice and eye.

"Now, then, Margery, I've stood this foolin' long enough! Beat it!"

But Margery gave him back look for look, and, instead of shrinking away at sight of his determined glance, answered emphatic scowl with scowl just as emphatic.

"You've stood this fooling long enough, have you, Willie Jones? And what about me? There's just one thing I want to tell you: You'll never get rid of me until you give me my nickel!"

"Aw, go on——"

Willie Jones broke off as two little girls who were passing stopped to look inquiringly, not to say inquisitively, from him to Margery. They were both a few years older than Margery, poor children evidently, for one of them carried a parcel of afternoon papers that she seemed to be delivering. It was the other one who, after a moment's pause, addressed Margery:

"What's the matter, little girl? Has he got a nickel of yours?"

Margery hesitated. Her struggle with Willie Jones was so much like a family quarrel that she was loath to call in outside interference. Truth to tell, if Willie Jones had been her own brother Henry, she would have died rather than disclose to the world the disgraceful cause of their wrangle. But Willie Jones wasn't Henry, and, besides that, Henry, though he was a boy, would never act this way about a nickel that was really hers. This thought decided her. She would give Willie Jones one more chance, and then, if he still persisted in ignoring the justice of her claim, she would force the situation by inviting the assistance of these friendly strangers.

Her words, though directed only to Willie, told the listening world all that it need know.

"I don't know what's the matter with you, Willie. I don't see why you're acting so mean. You know very well that nickel in your pocket, on the right-hand side, is mine. Now, I ask you for the last time: Please give it to me."

Margery held out her hand, but Willie, excited, perhaps, by the presence of the newcomers, seemed to lose all sense of the fitness of things, for he dashed Margery's hand rudely aside, and shouted angrily:

"Aw, go on! What do you think I am? I'll give you that nickel when I'm good and ready, and not before!"

"O-oh!" the newcomers chorused, in horror, and the young lady who had already spoken to Margery exclaimed to the lady of the papers:

"Oh, Rosie, ain't he just awful?"

Then she turned to Margery.

"You poor thing! What's your name?"

Margery told her.

"Margery, did you say? Well, Margery, let me introduce you to my friend, Rosie O'Brien. Rosie, this is my friend, Margery."

"Glad to know you," Rosie said, putting out the hand that was unencumbered with papers. "And her name," Rosie continued, indicating the introductress of the moment before, "is Janet McFadden. Janet, won't you shake hands with my friend, Margery?"

Janet would, and did so most cordially. Then, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder, not deigning to waste even a glance on Willie Jones, she inquired haughtily:

"And what does he answer to?"

Margery told her.

"Huh! Well, we'll Willie-Jones him, all right, before we're through with him!"

Now, it has been said that for every great cause a leader springs up. This, no doubt, is also true of lesser causes. At any rate, the businesslike manner in which Miss Janet McFadden proceeded at once to roll up her sleeves was enough to convince one that the cause of Margery's nickel had called forth its champion—a champion, be it added, not only willing but able.

"Lay down your papers, Rosie," was Janet's first command, "and put a stone on them so's they won't blow away. That's right. Now I guess we're ready."

Willie Jones was regarding them all with dark looks, tinged, perhaps, with just a shade of concern.

"Say there, you better look out what you think you're doing! If you're not careful some of you'll get hurt!"

Janet McFadden answered this warning with an order to her own forces:

"Now, girls, don't hurt him any more than you can help!"

Willie Jones spluttered with rage, and while he was spluttering Janet murmured tersely:

"Now's our time! When I count three, we'll go for him. I'll go for his arms; Rosie, you grab his legs and feet; and Margery can make for his pocket. Now! One—two—three!"

Willie Jones put up a gallant fight, but what, pray, are two stout arms against six just as stout? What, say, avails two strong legs that are pressed, hugged, jammed together by a human snake who has twisted herself about them, and is sitting on their helpless feet?

The violence of the contest was over in a moment, and Janet was urging:

"Quick, Margery, quick! His pocket!"

But when you're not trained to the business, it's fearfully hard to slip your hand deftly into some one else's pocket. Margery bungled, and Janet, impatient at her slowness, loosened slightly her own hold. On the instant, Willie Jones wrenched one arm free, dived into his pocket, and before his captors knew what he was about had pulled up the nickel and popped it into his mouth.

"You villain!" cried Janet McFadden, unspeakably incensed at this fresh outrage. "You spit that nickel right out! Do you hear me?"

Willie Jones made no answer. His mouth was too tightly shut to answer.

Janet would have shaken him soundly, but Margery stopped her.

"Be careful, Janet, be careful! If he was to swallow it I never would get it back!"

Willie Jones's face lit up, and he nodded his head vigorously.

For a moment Janet McFadden was silent, then she laughed.

"All right; let him swallow it if he wants to! But if he does he'll turn green as grass and die of blood poison, won't he, Rosie?"

"You bet he will!" Miss O'Brien called up from below. "By this time to-morrow he'll be dead! Then the patrol wagon'll come for him, and they'll carry him off to the morgue like that Dago that dropped dead on our street. You remember about him, don't you, Janet?"

"Sure I do. He had earrings in his ears."

The earrings seemed to be too much for Willie Jones. The look of triumph slowly faded from his face.

"Go ahead, swallow it!" Janet McFadden gently urged. She waited a moment, then declared emphatically: "Well, if he won't swallow it he's got to spit it out; that's all there is about it! Here, Rosie, we're going to lay him down on his stummick, so you lift his legs up. He can't do a thing—I've got his arms."

Willie Jones struggled, apparently on principle, not surely with any conviction that his struggling would avail him. In a moment Janet had him down and placed to her liking. A crowd was gathering, so there was no time to lose.

"Now, then, Margery," Janet commanded, "quick! Grab his nose and hold it shut real tight! That'll make his mouth open if anything will."

This time Margery did her part without bungling, and in spite of the look of reproach that Willie gave her. His time was come. He held in as long as the human engine can, then exploded. The force of the explosion blew the nickel out of his mouth, and, lo, all Margery had to do was pick it up.

Thus the struggle ended.

Janet and the faithful Rosie, releasing their captive, jumped nimbly aside, and, amid the jeers of the onlookers, Willie Jones got slowly to his feet.

"Aw, shucks! You call that fair—three against one?"

Janet answered at once:

"I call anything fair when there's more on the girl's side!"

Turning her back on Willie Jones, Janet put an affectionate arm about Margery's shoulder.

"Are you going to spend your nickel, Margery?"

Margery thought she was.

"Candy?"

"Yes, I thought I'd get some candy. Do you and Rosie like jaw-breakers?"

Janet and Rosie both adored jaw-breakers.

"Is this a good place?" Margery asked, pointing to the little candy store near which they were standing.

Janet was horrified.

"I should say not! The jaw-breakers here are the weeniest little things! No. A little ways up the street there's another candy store that has jaw-breakers as big as eggs! They last at least an hour, don't they, Rosie? Come on, and I'll show you."

To their surprise, Willie Jones accompanied them. In spite of all that had occurred, he seemed still to consider himself an honored member of the group. Rosie O'Brien stared at him incredulously, and Janet McFadden, casting long-suffering eyes to the telegraph wires overhead, snorted out:

"Huh! The cheek of some people, coming along with you whether you ask them or not!"

The jaw-breakers at the second store were nearly as large as Janet had reported them. The mere sight of them made your mouth ache in delicious discomfort. To hold six of them Margery had to make a little basket of both hands. This basket she carefully carried outside, where she paused, ready to pass it around. To Janet's indignation, Willie Jones pressed forward as confident as any one, and Margery did not repulse him. In fact, in her own mind, Margery had already decided that she could afford to be magnanimous. So, to show how far she could rise above petty resentment, she was about to offer the jaw-breakers to Willie first of all, when suddenly his face took on an expression of overwhelming horror, and, pointing a startled finger over Margery's shoulder, he cried out:

"Oh, look!"

Every one, of course, looked, and while they were looking Willie Jones swooped down upon the unprotected jaw-breakers, grabbed as many as he could, and fled. While the others were still gazing stupidly at each other he disappeared around a corner.

Rosie O'Brien was the first to recover speech enough to gasp out:

"Well, what do you know about that?"

Janet McFadden, groaning in helpless rage, worked her arms up and down, clenched and unclenched her hands, and breathed hard.

"O-oh! Do you know—do you know—sometimes I get so mad that I'd just like to wring the neck of every boy in the world!"

Margery alone had nothing to say. She stooped to pick up the only two jaw-breakers that were left. These were on the pavement, for, in snatching, Willie had knocked them out of her hands.

"I—I don't believe I want any jaw-breakers to-day." Margery spoke with a slight quaver. "You—you two can have them."

She offered one to Rosie, but Rosie, instead of taking it, threw her arms impulsively about Margery's neck.

"You poor thing! That'd be nice, now, wouldn't it? And you not have even one of your own jaw-breakers! No! I just tell you what we'll do: You'll have one whole one for yourself, and me and Janet'll divide the other. I'll suck it for a block, and then Janet can suck it for a block."

This was the arrangement finally agreed upon.

"And wouldn't you like to come with us, Margery, while I finish up my paper route?"

Yes, Margery would just as soon do that as anything else.

Rosie petted and comforted her as best she could, teaching her how to wrap a paper that is to be thrown on a porch, explaining to her the scale of profits in the newspaper business, and giving her interesting bits of family history about the various houses where they stopped.

Had she been alone with Rosie, Margery would have been allowed to forget somewhat her recent troubles. In fact, she almost did forget them once or twice at moments when Janet McFadden was busy sucking the jaw-breaker. But the instant it became Rosie's turn to suck, Janet was back again on the old subject.

"Ha, ha! Don't you think I know 'em?" The 'em of Janet's acquaintance were, of course, Willie Jones and his kind. "Oh, I tell you, I know 'em just as well! They're all the same, every last one of them, always getting the best of us, and then going off by themselves and having a good time! I tell you, if I had my way, things'd be different! Oh, I tell you, if we'd all just get together and treat 'em like they ought to be treated, it—it—it—it'd be just good for 'em—it would!"

Of course, everything Janet said was gospel truth, and there was no gainsaying it; but even truth is sometimes depressing, and not the thing one wishes forever to have dinned into one's ears.

"And I know just as well as I know my own name, Margery, that now, after he's acted this way, he'll be coming back trying to make friends with you. You needn't tell me! I know him! But listen here, Margery, don't have a thing to do with him! Don't ever speak to him again, and pretend you don't even see him. He's not worth it—honestly he's not!"

When Margery parted from them later in the afternoon Janet made her solemnly promise that henceforward she would consider Willie Jones as dirt beneath her feet. It was neither the time nor the place for Margery to ask herself whether she really wished to make such a promise, for, in the presence of so fiery an apostle of female rights, her private inclinations simply shriveled to fine ashes and blew away.

"Of course," murmured Margery meekly, "of course I'll never speak to him again."

"That's right!" Janet declared. "He don't deserve it."

"And say, Margery," Rosie O'Brien begged, in parting, "come down to East Maplewood again some afternoon, won't you? I start on my paper route at half past three—you know where. I'd love to have you come again."

"I'll come if I can, Rosie—honest, I will. Both of you have been just as nice to me! Good-by."

Margery trudged homeward, feeling tired and a little down-hearted. Janet McFadden was entirely right: Willie Jones was a villain and a rogue. But, even so, wasn't it rather a pity to end things forever, after all the good times they had once had together? Dear, dear! In a maleless world, justice to ladies would no doubt prevail; but, alas, alas, in such a world the ladies who enjoy male society would probably feel a bit lonesome.

"Say, Margery, hold on a minute!"

The voice was unmistakable, but Margery did not turn her head.

"Say, Margery, I'm awfully sorry—honest, I am. I was only fooling."

There he was, just as Janet said he would be. Janet knew. So far as Margery herself was concerned, she would just as soon make friends, but she had promised Janet, and she must keep her word. Heigho!

"And lookee here, Margery, here are all your jaw-breakers. I ain't et one—honest, I ain't."

Margery looked, and, lo, in his hand lay four jaw-breakers, three of them as black and shiny as the moment they had left the little candy store, the fourth sucked down only to the pink.

"I couldn't help tasting one of them, Margery, but I only sucked it a few minutes—honest, I did. And here," Willie Jones continued, offering her a little bag, "is a cake I bought for you with my last cent."

"Oh, Willie, did you really?"

"You just got to take it, Margery. I want you to. I'm awful sorry I was so mean to you, but, don't you know, when that old Janet McFadden butted in, I just couldn't help it. I always did hate a girl like her! But I was going to give you your nickel, all right. I meant to all along. Of course I did! Wasn't it your nickel?"

"Oh, Willie, and did you really buy that cake for me with your own cent, and you didn't eat up all my jaw-breakers?"

"Of course you know I was just fooling about that nickel, don't you, Margery?"

There is no telling what Margery really knew down deep in her heart, and it didn't in the least matter. All that mattered now was this: Here was Willie Jones, genuinely ashamed of what he had done, and man enough to say so. Margery forgave him instantly.

"But, Willie, I just won't eat a bite of that cake unless you take half. Here, let me break it in two."

After they had eaten the cake, she insisted likewise upon sharing the recovered jaw-breakers.

"And I'm going to take the one you've partly sucked for one of mine, because I've had a whole one already, and you haven't had any."

Willie Jones protested, but this time Margery had her way, and in a few moments, after the friendliest of partings, he was started home with a fresh jaw-breaker in his cheek and another in his pocket.

Of course, without a thought, Margery had broken her promise to Janet. Well, what if she had? Margery gave her shoulders an impatient little shrug. Who, pray, was Janet McFadden that she should come between friends? To be sure, in her way, Janet was a good, kind creature, and she meant well, but wasn't she a trifle excitable and a little too emphatic, don't you think? On the whole, too, her outlook on life seemed rather limited. There were certain things you never could expect her to understand. Come to think of it, she didn't look like a girl who received many valentines. It might be just as well if Margery never saw her again, for explanations would be difficult.

Not so, though, with Rosie O'Brien! If Margery ever met Rosie alone, she could explain to Rosie, and Rosie, she felt sure, would understand at once. Rosie had bright blues eyes and pretty hair that blew about her face in soft, alluring ringlets. Rosie without a doubt would understand.

Poor Janet McFadden! Margery really felt sorry for Janet as she thought of her going through life weighted down with such a grievance. Of course, it was awfully good of her, the way she had espoused Margery's cause. Poor thing, she was probably still fuming over Margery's wrongs at this very moment, when Margery herself, sucking hard at Willie Jones's half-finished jaw-breaker, which she was in hopes of concluding before dinner, was feeling anything but injured and down-trodden. Perhaps, though, it was the poor thing's pleasure to keep herself always stirred up.

For some reason Margery was not hungry for dinner, but she forced herself to eat enough to avert paternal questioning. The last jaw-breaker she was saving for bed. She could take half an hour's sweet comfort from it before going to sleep, and still have something to look forward to upon awakening next morning.

While she waited after dinner until she could, in decency, retire, she sat a while within the family circle, quietly musing upon the day's adventures. What a strange, delightful, interesting sort of a place the world was, to be sure, with all its fiery Janet McFaddens, and sweet Rosie O'Briens, and paradoxical Willie Joneses! My but she was glad that she was alive!

And she really was sorry for Janet. If she could only make her see——

"Well, after all, Margery, what do you think about it?"

Her father was looking at her with a quizzical expression, but his question chimed in so well with her own thoughts that before she realized what she was saying, Margery answered:

"I don't care if they do act mean sometimes—I like 'em!"