Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves by James Matlack Raney Page A

again!” the little girl said, stomping her foot in exasperation. “Are all boys this senseless? Boys! Boys! Stop it this instant!” She then surprised Jim even further by reaching into the rumbling trio and yanking them apart one at a time like a dogcatcher pulling apart a scrapping pile of pups. Jim appraised her anew with raised eyebrows.
    “I had four cousins…all boys,” she said, catching Jim’s stare. “And all stupid,” she added with a disapproving look in the Ratt Brothers’ direction. But, noticing their crestfallen faces at her rebuke, she added with some tenderness: “But as far as boys go, they are at least as good a thieves as they say.”
    With that compliment, the boys’ exuberance returned, and they clasped arms around one another’s shoulders, smiling with faces formed of black eyes, bloody noses, and swollen lips.
    “So, how do I know who’s who?” Jim asked.
    “Isn’t it obvious?” the boys said in perfect unison. “I’m the good-looking one!”
    The girl rolled her eyes and quickly instructed Jim on the actual way to tell them apart. “There are two ways. First, George has three freckles going across the bridge of his nose.”
    “I do not!” George said, immediately putting his hand to his nose as if he could feel whether or not the freckles were actually there.
    “Paul really is the smallest.”
    “What!?” Paul exclaimed, but the girl immediately soothed his concern.
    “But only by a little and I’m sure you’ll grow out of it. And Peter has the curliest hair.”
    “And what’s the second way?” Jim asked.
    “By what they do of course!” the girl said, as though it were obvious. “George picks pockets, Peter picks locks, and Paul —”
    “Picks his nose!” Peter said.
    “I DO NOT!” Paul raged, and the boys immediately set upon one another once again.
    “— and Paul is a natural born con man,” the girl finished, and this time she just sighed as the boys tussled until they finally either forgot about what they were fighting over or just plain wore themselves out.
    “And what’s your name?” Jim finally asked.
    “My name is Lacey,” she said, and then turned back to the Ratts, who were now dusting one another off and praising each other’s fighting skills.
    “You have a mean right hook, Peter! An absolute earth shaker!”
    “Your chin is like an oak, Paul! Like solid oak!”
    “Men should mind their distance about us, that’s for certain!”
    “Now boys,” Lacey said, and they straightened up to listen. “We need to get home and to bed so we can start practicing tomorrow.”
    “Practicing?” Jim asked. “For what?”
    “For thievin’, mate,” Peter said.
    “We’ll need to be in tip-top form if we’re going to get your box back. The Dragons may be as big and dumb as they look, but they aren’t bad crooks, that’s for sure.”
    “You — you’re really going to help me?” Jim asked.
    “Of course we are, Jim,” George said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re part of our clan now. That makes you our friend, and we always help our friends.” Jim didn’t know why, but his throat got alllumpy again, but this time, to his surprise, it wasn’t an entirely sad lump.
    “So,” said Peter. “Is that box really yours?”
    “Yeah,” chimed in Paul. “Must be somethin’ important to have you take on the King himself for it.”
    Jim swallowed hard. As kind as these new friends seemed to be, he was not quite ready to share his secret. “It’s just a family heirloom, that’s all. From my father.”
    “Ah, yes,” George nodded knowingly. “I have me father’s earlobes as well. Always important to keep such things safe.” Jim was about to correct him, but George and his brothers seemed quite satisfied with themselves and, with no further discussion, turned to leave the courtyard.
    So, being completely exhausted and with nowhere else to go, Jim followed his new friends out of the court and down the street, hoping against hope