THRASHING A BULLY
The next morning Bob was on his way to school when on passing the
Sterling House, the most prominent hotel in town, he caught sight of
the figure of a girl on the porch that looked somewhat familiar to
him. He looked again and recognized Nellie Berwick, the orphan girl
to whom he and the rest of the Radio Boys had rendered such valuable
service when her automobile had run wild and dashed through the
window of a store.
At the same moment her eyes fell upon Bob and her face lighted up
with pleasure. She waved her hand in greeting, and in a moment Bob
had run up the steps and was taking her outstretched hand.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and there was evident sincerity
in her voice. “I was just thinking of you before you came in sight.”
“It’s pleasant to be remembered,” replied Bob.
“I have good cause for remembering,” she said, pointing across the
street. “There’s the very place where I came so near to losing my
life, and probably would have lost it if it hadn’t been for you.”
“I simply had the good luck to be on hand at the time,” replied Bob.
“Anyone else would have done as much. But what is it that brings you
to Clintonia? Are you going to stay for some time?”
“No,” she responded, “I expect to go back home this afternoon. I
came to Clintonia to see your Doctor Dale, the pastor of the Old
First Church. You know him, I suppose.”
“Know him!” replied Bob. “I should say I do. He’s one of the finest
men that ever lived. It was only yesterday that I had a long talk
with him. If I had time this morning, I’d take you up and introduce
you to him.”
“Thank you just as much,” Miss Berwick answered. “I’m going to see
him about the services in his church that are carried to other
churches by radio. The little church in our town isn’t large enough
to support a pastor and I’ve heard of so many little churches that
are supplied by him that I thought we might make similar
arrangements. I wanted to learn from him just what kind of receiving
sets are best for the purpose and just how one can be installed.”
“He’ll be glad to give you any information that you want,” Bob
assured her. “He’s doing great work by radio, and by this time there
must be thousands who listen to him every Sunday. He’ll be only too
pleased to have your church added to the list. And say,” he added,
“when you’ve picked out your set, some of the other fellows and I
will come over and rig it up.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” she said gratefully. “We’ll certainly
need some help of that kind, for I don’t know any of our own people
that are experts at radio.”
“We don’t call ourselves experts,” disclaimed Bob. “But I’m sure we
can set your apparatus up so that you’ll have no trouble in
receiving.”
“By the way,” remarked Miss Berwick, “you remember Dan Cassey?”
“Will I ever forget him?” replied Bob, and before him rose that
night of storm and darkness when he had been engaged in a
life-and-death struggle with the scoundrel.
“I saw him the other day,” went on Miss Berwick.
“What!” cried Bob, with a start. “You don’t mean that the rascal has
escaped again?”
“Oh, no,” returned the girl. “I saw him in prison.”
“Oh!” said Bob, in great relief. “That’s better. That’s where the
villain belongs. But how on earth did you happen to see him?”
“It was quite accidental,” was the reply. “I went with a friend of
mine who is acquainted with the wife of the prison warden. A radio
concert was to be given for the benefit of the prisoners and the
warden’s wife had invited her to attend and bring any friend she
liked with her. I didn’t have Cassey in mind—didn’t know, in fact,
that he was in that special prison. You can imagine then how
startled I was when in looking over the rows of prisoners in the
prison chapel where the concert was given I recognized Cassey. He
looked up and saw me too, and I never saw such a black and wicked
look on any man’s face as came into his. He looked as though he
would like to tear me to pieces.”
“No doubt he would if he had the chance,” replied Bob. “I imagine I
wouldn’t fare very well either if he could get a hack at me. He’s
bad medicine, through and through. Had you heard that he escaped
once?”
“No,” replied Miss Berwick, in surprise. “Tell me about it.”
In response, Bob narrated the incident of Cassey’s escape and how he
and the other Radio Boys had been instrumental in his capture.
“So you see,” he concluded, with a laugh, “Cassey must think I’m his
hoodoo. I’d have a mighty slim chance if he ever had me helpless in
his hands.”
But here, Bob, glancing at his watch, saw that he had barely time to
reach the high school before the bell rang, and with cordial
farewells they parted.
As the hours wore on the day grew unbearably hot, unseasonably so,
since it was only the month of May. The day seemed excessively long,
the lessons dragged, and into the minds of the boys came thoughts of
cool green waters and ocean breezes.
“Oh, for Ocean Point once more!” ejaculated Joe, as at the close of
the school day he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Say,
fellows, how would it be just now to slip on our bathing suits, run
down to the surf and plunge into the breakers? Oh, me, oh, my!”
“What’s the use of tantalizing a fellow?” grumbled Herb. “It’ll be
at least a month or six weeks before we can get to the beach.”
“Let’s hope this weather doesn’t keep up,” remarked Bob. “But what’s
the use of waiting for Ocean Point? If we can’t get the whole loaf,
let’s take a slice. What do you say to taking a dip in the swimming
hole down on the old Shagary? It’ll cool us off anyway, and that’s
something on a day like this.”
“Just what the doctor ordered,” declared Jimmy, and his comrades
murmured their approval.
It was the work of only a few minutes to reach their homes, leave
their books, get their swimming trunks and towels and make for the
banks of the Shagary. It was only a small stream, but the water was
clear and in several places deep enough to afford excellent sport.
There was one spot especially that was in high favor with the boys,
because there the stream widened out so that there was some fun in
racing from bank to bank. It bore the designation of the “swimming
hole,” and it was there that the boys proceeded.
A hundred yards away, Bob started on a sprint.
“The last one in is a Chinaman,” he cried.
All sought to avoid having that name tacked on to him, and Herb and
Joe gave Bob a genuine race, arriving with him at the river bank
almost neck and neck. Jimmy was handicapped by his weight and
shorter legs, and by the time he got there they had already removed
some of their clothes.
“I ought to have had a twenty-yard start,” he grumbled, as he
fumbled with his buttons.
In his haste, he had taken up a position too close to the edge of
the bank, and as he stood on one leg while he lifted up the other to
remove the leg of his trousers, he got slightly off his balance. He
staggered a moment in trying to regain it, but it was no use. Over
he went head first into the river, the yell of consternation that he
emitted being suddenly cut short as he struck the water.
Bob, who was standing nearest him, had seen him stagger and had
reached out his hand to catch him. But he had only grazed his sleeve
and had all he could do to escape toppling into the water himself.
Up came Jimmy, gasping and spluttering, for as his mouth had been
open when he struck the water he had swallowed a lot of it. His hair
was plastered over his head, and there was a comical look of
surprise and chagrin on his round face.
As he reached the bank and waded out, one leg of his trousers still
clinging about him and the other trailing behind him, he presented
such a ludicrous appearance that the boys fairly doubled up with
laughter.
Jimmy glared at them indignantly, but this only made them laugh the
more.
“That’s right, you laughing hyenas!” snorted Jimmy. “Go right ahead
and cackle.”
“You’re getting your figures mixed, Jimmy,” chuckled Herb. “Hyenas
don’t cackle. You’re thinking of hens.”
“I know I made a mistake,” admitted Jimmy. “I ought to have spoken
of the braying of jackasses.”
“Never mind, Jimmy,” consoled Bob. “You’re not a Chinaman anyway.
You weren’t the last one in.”
This seemed to bring but scant comfort to Jimmy, but he soon had
plenty to occupy his mind in squeezing out his dripping clothes and
spreading them in the sun to dry.
Whatever irritation he felt, however, was soon dissipated when he
joined his companions, who were sporting about in the cool water. It
was their first swim of the season and they enjoyed it beyond
measure, diving, swimming, floating and racing until a look at the
western sun told them that it was time to think about getting home.
By this time, Jimmy’s clothes were fairly dry, although they stood
sadly in need of pressing. They all dressed quickly and started for
the town.
Their road led for part of the way along the river bank, and they
had proceeded perhaps an eighth of a mile when they heard cries of
protest coming from the river mingled with mocking laughter.
At this point the road curved a little and was bordered with bushes.
Joe peered through the bushes and then beckoned to his companions.
“It’s Buck Looker and his gang up to one of their usual tricks,” he
whispered.
They looked and saw Buck, with Carl Lutz and Terry Mooney, sitting
on the grass a little way from the river. They were laughing
boisterously, as though at some huge joke.
At their feet were two suits of clothes, and in the river with the
water up to their waists were standing two boys who seemed to be
about ten or eleven years old. They were evidently the owners of the
clothes in question and were begging Buck and his cronies to give
them up.
“I told you you could have them,” Buck was saying. “All you have to
do is to come and get them. But the minute you step foot on the
bank, I’ll throw your shoes into the water.”
Between the offer and the threat, the small boys were in a dilemma.
It was evident that they had been in the water a long time, for they
were shivering and their teeth were chattering. They wanted their
clothes badly, but they did not want to lose their shoes. So they
stood there half whimpering with rage and cold.
The quandary in which Buck had placed his small victims seemed the
very essence of humor to him and his cronies, who roared with
laughter and slapped each other on the back.
At last, one of the boys in the water advanced timidly to the shore,
hoping perhaps that Buck would give him back his clothes without
making good his threat about the shoes. But the moment the boy
stepped on the shore, Buck took up one of his shoes and hurled it
into the water.
The little fellow looked after it for a moment, and then his
overstrained nerves gave way and he burst into tears.
This was too much for the Radio Boys, and they burst through the
bushes and came on a run toward Buck and his gang. The latter looked
up in alarm at the unexpected interruption and got up quickly on
their feet.
“You cowardly, hulking bully!” cried Bob. “What do you mean by
treating these little fellows that way? You ought to be thrashed
within an inch of your life.”
“You mind your business,” growled Buck sullenly. “Who gave you a
license to butt in, anyway?”
“I’ll show you in a minute where I got my license,” replied Bob.
“Don’t let him get away, fellows. Here, boys,” he called to the boys
in the water, “come here and get your clothes. There’s only one more
shoe going into the water, and it won’t be yours.”
The little fellows came out eagerly and then Bob turned to Buck.
“Take off your coat,” he commanded curtly, at the same time peeling
off his own and throwing it to the ground.
Buck looked around for help, but Joe had ranged himself alongside of
Lutz and Herb was looking after Mooney, and those worthies were not
a bit inclined to mix in.
“My, but you’re slow, Buck,” remarked Bob. “You weren’t half as slow
when you were picking on those youngsters. Come, get busy.”
There was no help for it, and Buck took off his coat. Then with a
roar of rage he rushed at Bob, who sidestepped cleverly and caught
Buck in the jaw with a blow that shook him from head to heels. Buck
staggered for a moment and then rushed in to a clinch, and in an
instant they were at it, hammer and tongs.
As Jimmy described it afterward it was a “peach of a scrap” while it
lasted. But it did not last long. Buck was a little the older and
considerably the heavier of the two, but he was no match for Bob in
strength, cleverness and hard hitting. Bob met his opponent’s rushes
with smashing, skilfully placed blows that soon had Buck grunting
and bewildered, and at last with a long drive to the point of the
jaw stretched him on the ground, where he lay half blubbering with
rage and pain.
“Had enough?” asked Bob. “If not, there’s plenty more waiting for
you. No trouble to show goods.”
Buck made some unintelligible answer.
“Say enough,” commanded Bob.
“Enough,” growled Buck.
“All right,” said Bob. “Now there’s only one more thing you’ve got
to do. Take off one of your shoes.”
“I won’t!” shouted Buck, stung into fury.
“Then stand up and take some more,” commanded Bob. “It’s one thing
or the other.”
But Buck had no stomach for any more fighting, and confronted by the
two alternatives, he chose the lesser evil and took off one of his
shoes.
Bob picked it up and flung it into the river, much to the delight of
the two little fellows whom Buck had tormented.
“I guess that will be about all,” remarked Bob, as he put on his
coat. “The next time you want to bully little chaps that can’t fight
back, take a good look all around and make sure there’s no one about
that may interfere with your amusement. Come along, fellows.”
They went on their way, followed by the black looks and enraged
mutterings of the discomfited bully and his cronies.
“I’ve heard a good deal about poetic justice, but I never saw such a
beautiful specimen as this,” chuckled Joe. “Bob, I take off my hat
to you.”
“That’s all right,” laughed Herb. “But for the love of Pete, don’t
take off your shoe. Shoes aren’t safe when Bob’s around.”