"Listen!" said Jimmie sternly. "If you're going into the wild and
lawless life of the peraries with me you got to learn to get things.
Jesse James or Morgan's men could get me that axe and that grub, and not
make one-two-three of it."

"Them guys had practice--and likely they never had to go against their
stepmothers."

"Do I go alone, then?"

"Well, now--"

"Will you or won't you?"

Boogies drew a fateful breath.

"I'll take a chance. You wait here. If I ain't back in one hour you'll
know I been murdered."

"Good, my man!" said Jimmie Time with the air of an outlaw chief. "Be
off at once."

Boogies was off. And Boogies was back in less than the hour with a
delectable bulging meal sack. He was trembling but radiant.

"She seen me gitting away and she yelled her head off," he gasped; "but
you bet I never stopped. I just thought of Jesse James and General
Grant, and run like hell!"

"Good, my man!" said Jimmie Time; and then, with a sudden gleam of the
practical, he inventoried the commissary and quartermaster supplies in
the sack. He found them to be: One hatchet; one well-used boiled
hambone; six greasy sugared crullers; four dill pickles; a bottle of
catchup; two tomatoes all but obliterated in transit; two loaves of
bread; a flatiron.

Jimmie cast the last item from him.

"Wh'd you bring that for?" he demanded.

"I don't know," confessed Boogies. "I just put it in. Mebbe I was afraid
she'd throw it at me when I was making my getaway. It'll be good for
cracking nuts if we find any on the peraries. I bet they have nuts!"

"All right, then. You can carry it if you want to, pard."

Jimmie thrust the bundle into Boogies' arms and valiantly led a
desperate way to the North River. Boogies panted under his burden as
they dodged impatient taxicabs. So they came into the maze of dock
traffic by way of Desbrosses Street. The eyes of both were lit by
adventure. Jimmie pushed through the crowd on the wharf to a ticket
office. A glimpse through a door of the huge shed had given him
inspiration. No common ferryboats for them! He had seen the stately
river steamer, _Robert Fulton_, gay with flags and bunting, awaiting the
throng of excursionists. He recklessly bought tickets. So far, so good.
A momentous start had been made.

At this very interesting point in his discourse to me, however, Boogies
began to miss explosions too frequently. From the disorderly jumble of
his narrative to this moment I believe I have