"How do you feel now?" asked Jimmie, wrinkling his nose at Frank.
"How does it seem to be a bold, bad gunman?"
"I think it is a little shivery," Frank answered. "When I get back to
New York," he went on, "I'm going to write a story for Dad's
newspaper entitled: 'Desperate Desmonds I have Shot Up in the Hills.'
That title ought to make a hit on the East Side, south of First
street!"
"I feel like a second-story man, and a gopher-worker, and a train-
robber, and a confidence operative all rolled into one!" Jimmie
admitted. "This holding people up is new exercise for us! Say, will
you agree to let me push the gun into his face?"
"We'll both have guns, you little highway-man!" Frank replied. "You
needn't think I'm going to look on and miss all the fun!"
"Then you let me tie him up!" coaxed Jimmie. "I won't tie him very
tight, just so he can't breathe, and so his blood won't circulate!"
"You're the fierce little bandit!" declared Frank.
"Well, the gang he belongs to tied me up!" complained the boy. "I'm
going to get even on this geek! We can walk right down on him at any
time now. He'll never suspect that we're pirates."
"First," Frank observed, "I'd like to know where he is going so
fast.
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