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“One time or another you’ve told me a lot of idiotic things,” growled the Shark. “Which particular one do you mean now?”

“That warning—warning of trouble for somebody.”

“Rats!”

Poke wagged his head. “Look here, Shark! I said it, and you heard me say it. I told you I was sure a heap of trouble was coming to somebody. Well, it came! Old Sam caught it. I wouldn’t have been in his shoes just now for—for—for I don’t know what. Neither would you. So the warning made good!”

The Shark rubbed his chin with an unusual manner of doubt. “Why—why—well, it was fierce for Sam. But I—I’d hate to admit——”

“Course you would!” Poke interrupted. “You’re prejudiced. You don’t believe in anything unless you can put it in figures.”

The taunt swept away the Shark’s indecision. “Warning—nothing!” he snapped. “Too much mince pie, that’s all!”

Poke’s grin was triumphant. “All right! Call it too much mince pie, if you want to. But wait till Sam gets that pie that’s promised him, and the crowd hears about it! Then I guess you’ll think I was right all through.”