THE REVENGE TALK AT MILLER'S
"Let's get out of this place," whispered Dick in Dave's ear as
Darry helped him to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.
"There, the bleeding has stopped," muttered Dave. "Now, put on
your coat and button it up. Then the blood stains on your shirt
won't show."
Tom Drake had very little to say, but he kept close to Prescott.
"Shall we walk down the road a bit, Mr. Drake?" asked Dick, as
soon as he had his coat on.
"I'm in a hurry to get home," nodded the young workman. "I shall
know where I belong, after this. No more of Miller's for me!
For that matter," the young man added, with a hearty laugh, "I
don't believe Miller would ever let me in his place again. Of
course, in his own mind, he will blame me for what happened to-night."
"I hope he didn't get much of your money before it happened,"
murmured Prescott, as be and Drake, followed by Dave, Tom and
Dan, got clear of the crowd and down into a quieter part of the
road.
"He got less than a dollar of my wages," replied Drake. "I'm
sorry he has that much, but he'll never get any more. Say, Prescott,
but you are a fighter! I can imagine how 'sore' Miller will
be, to-morrow, over having been whipped by such a stripling as
you are."
"I've one great advantage over Miller," Dick rejoined. "I've
never tasted alcohol, and Miller has saturated himself with it
for years."
"I used to have an idea that liquor was strengthening," murmured
Tom Drake. "I know quite a good many men who take it to keep
up their strength."
"They're fools, then," Dick retorted tersely. "You could see,
in Miller to-night, what alcohol does toward making one strong.
That man is still powerful, but I'm satisfied that he was once
a great deal stronger. Miller's muscles have grown flabby since
he began to drink. His speed is less than it must have been formerly.
Even his nerve---his grit---has been impaired by the stuff he
has been drinking. Did you notice how early in the fight his
wind left him? The man has very little of his former strength,
and the blame belongs to the liquor he has used."
"Here's my gate," said Tom Drake, at last, as they halted before
the little cottage. "Come in. I've got to tell my wife about
you. I wonder where my two girls are?"
Dick and his friends tried to get out of going into the yard,
but their new friend would not have it that way, so silently they
followed Drake up the path. Then, through a front window, Tom
Drake saw his girls.
His wife sat at a table, her head resting on her arms. On the
floor sat the toddler, Mollie, still in her white dress. She
had two broken dolls, pretending to play with them, but the woebegone
look in her little face showed that her thoughts were elsewhere.
Tom Drake choked as he looked in at the window. Then, throwing
up his head resolutely, he lifted the latch, entering the room
with firm tread.
"I'm a bit late, girls, but come on up in the village!" he invited.
"Here, Hattie, you take charge of this little roll," he added,
thrusting his money into his wife's hand.
Not more than three minutes later the three Drakes issued from
the house, Mollie enjoying a "ride" on her father's shoulder.
"Why, where are the boys?" he demanded. "I left them here."
"Gone, like all good angels, when their work is done," smiled
his wife.
"It's all right, anyway, girls," Tom Drake answered cheerily.
"We're pretty sure to find 'em up in the village, where we're
going."
In the first place that the Drakes entered they came upon Dick
and his three friends. The Gridley boys, after dodging a crowd
that wanted to lionize young Prescott, had taken refuge, unseen,
in the back of an otherwise deserted ice cream saloon.
"There they are!" cried Mollie, running the length of the shop,
as fast as her chubby little legs could take her. She ran straight
to Dick who bent over to give her a gentle hug.
"I don't know what to say to you young men," cried Mrs. Drake,
halting beside the boys, her voice breaking a little, her eyes
moist.
"Then, if you'll permit me to offer a suggestion," Dick smiled
back, as he rose, "it seems to me that conversation might spoil
several good things. Won't you all sit down and be our guests
in a little ice cream feast that we have started?"
It was almost an hour before the little party broke up. A few
interested citizens, however, found the hiding place of the Gridley
High School boys and insisted on coming in to shake hands with
the boys.
"Take your family and slip out through the back door," Dick whispered
to Tom Drake.
"I don't know that I'll ever see you again," murmured Drake huskily,
"so I want to say-----"
"Don't say anything," Dick smiled back. "You're all right, from
now on. And we've all learned something to-night. We'll let
it rest there. Good-bye, and the best of good luck for you and
yours."
So the Drakes escaped from what would have been an embarrassing
scene. Nor were Dick and his friends long in getting away from
the too-enthusiastic citizens.
"It's late enough for us to go back to camp and turn in, isn't
it?" suggested Tom Reade.
"I was thinking of that myself," Dick admitted.
"You must be tired, anyway," Dave hinted. "You whipped Miller
all right, but he was a tiring brute, and I'll wager that you're
both sore and exhausted."
"I'll plead guilty to a little bit of both," Dick Prescott assented,
laughing at the recollection of Miller at the time when that brute's
second eye was closed.
Yet it was more than half an hour after their return to camp when
slumber finally began to assert its claim upon the Gridley boys.
For Greg and Harry, as soon as they had heard a few words as
to the evening's adventure, insisted upon hearing all of it before
they would let Dick turn in.
"I'll bet they're sore in Miller's place tonight," chuckled Greg,
just before be extinguished the second lantern.
Certainly anger did reign in Miller's place for the rest of that
evening.
Miller had been brought to consciousness, after considerable effort.
He was even able to be up and about his place, but his swollen
features looked like a caricature of a face.
"The schoolboy that was able to do that to you, Miller, must have
been eight feet high and as wide as a gate," remarked one of the
red-nosed patrons of the place.
"Shut up!" was Miller's gracious response.
There were other drinking places in Fenton, and to these the news of
the big fellow's drubbing quickly spread.
Indeed, the fight seemed to be the one topic of the talk of Fenton
that evening.
As it happened, it wasn't very long before word was brought to
Miller that Dick and his friends were camping down on Andy Hartshorn's
place.
"It's queer that Hartshorn will let such young toughs stop on
his land!" growled Miller.
"They ought to be chased out of town---that's what!" growled a
patron of the place.
More of this talk was heard, until finally someone demanded thickly:
"Well, why can't we chase 'em out of town?"
At first, the idea met with instant favor among the dozen or more
worthless men gathered in Miller's saloon. The plan grew in favor
until one man, slighter than the rest, observed:
"Say! Stop and think of one thing. We know what one of the boys
did to Miller, and there are six of those boys down at the camp!"
That rather cast a damper over the enthusiasm until one blear-eyed
man of fifty observed, knowingly:
"Well, we don't need to go alone. There are other men in Fenton
who think the way we do. We can go down to the woods in force,
and pretend that what we want to do comes as a rebuke administered
by the citizens of Fenton."
"Hurrah!" cheered one man who seemed in danger of falling asleep.
"Miller, let us use your telephone," urged the former speaker.
"No, you can't," retorted the liquor seller quickly. "It's all
right for you men to do whatever you think is right, but you've
got to remember that I've got to be kept out of whatever happens."
Well enough did the wretch know that half-hearted opposition from
him would only fan the flame hotter among the men who considered
themselves his friends.
So the messengers were sent to the other drinking places in town.
Word was passed for a night raid "by representative citizens,"
as these topers called themselves.
Men of the same turn of mind soon came flocking in from other
drinking resorts.
"Don't talk here about what you're going to do for the good of
the town," Miller ordered. "Remember, I've got to be kept out
of this. My position is a delicate one, you understand."
Soon after midnight the disreputable army of vengeance seekers
was straggling down the road. Talking had ceased. These drink-driven
wretches were hunting for the camp of Dick & Co. and they were
going to attack it in force.