These two throats belonged respectively to Samuel Williams and Maurice Levy, who were standing in a strikingly Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern attitude.
"He got me with his ole tin-box needle, too," Maurice muttered to Sam.
"He was goin' to do it to Marjorie, and I told her to look out, and he says, 'Here, YOU take it!' all of a sudden, and he stuck it in my hand so quick I never thought.

And then, BIM! his ole needle shot out and perty near went through my thumb-bone or sumpthing.

He'll be sorry before this day's over!" "Well," said Sam darkly, "he's goin' to be sorry he stuck ME, anyway!" Neither Sam nor Maurice had even the vaguest plan for causing the desired regret in the breast of Master Chitten; but both derived a little consolation from these prophecies.

And they, too, had aligned themselves with the insurgents.

Their motives were personal--Carlie Chitten had wronged both of them, and Carlie was conspicuously in high favour with the Authorities.