AT CLOSE QUARTERS
The fellow in the driver’s seat of the big automobile dropped his
cigarette and half started from his seat as he heard Bobby’s words and
saw him making for the fence.
“Hey, youse!” he shouted, “what are youse buttin’ in for? Keep out of
this. Get right along an’ mind your own business.”
“Nobody asked for your advice,” shouted Bobby, as he scaled the fence
and dropped on the other side. “Come along, fellows, and come quick.”
At a little distance from the fence stood a tree that the doctor, who
was an enthusiast on fruit growing, prized above all his other
possessions. It bore an exceedingly rare species of apple that matured
early in the season, had a delicious flavor and was highly valued by
experts. It was a new variety, and it was understood that the doctor had
paid as much as a thousand dollars for it with a view to developing in
time a whole orchard of the same species. The boys had often heard him
talk about it, and they knew how much he valued it. One of Billy’s stock
jokes was to refer to it as the “apple of his eye.”
Beneath this special tree were standing four youths of the same type as
the one in the car, while in the tree itself was another. The apples
were still green, of course, but this did not deter the marauders.
They were considerably larger and older than the Rockledge boys, but the
latter were so full of indignation as they ran toward them that they
took little account of size or age.
“What are you fellows doing?” cried Bobby, as he came within earshot of
the intruders. “Leave those apples alone.”
The strangers looked up in some surprise at the interruption and then
conferred together hastily.
“What have you got to say about it?” blurted out the one who seemed to
be the leader of the party. “They ain’t your apples, are they?”
“No, but they belong to the head of our school,” replied Bobby. “And
he’d have you arrested for stealing them if he knew about it.”
“Well, what he don’t know ain’t a-goin’ to hurt him,” sneered the
fellow. “An’ if they ain’t your apples you ain’t got no license to
interfere. You git along now an’ beat it while the goin’s good.”
“Give him a clip in the jaw, Hen, an’ take some of the freshness out of
him,” growled one of the fruit thieves.
“You can’t bluff us with any of that kind of talk,” declared Bobby
stoutly. “I’ve got the number of that car, and you fellows will be
tracked down and arrested if you don’t get away from here quick.”
An ugly look came into the bully’s eyes as he clenched his fist.
And while, with his heart beating fast but his courage unshaken, Bobby
waited for the expected rush, it may be well, for the benefit of those
who have not read the earlier volumes of this series, to tell who Bobby
and his chums are.
Bobby Blake was now about thirteen years old, and had been born in a
little town called Clinton. He was the only child of a business man of
that place, whose affairs frequently called him away from home.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake had gone to South America on a protracted trip a few
years before our present story opens, and had been fortunate in finding
an excellent private school for Bobby near home, in the Rockledge
School. His first year there and adventures are related in “Bobby Blake
at Rockledge School.”
His special friend was Fred Martin, the son of a merchant of Clinton.
Fred had received the nickname of “Ginger” because of his fiery red
hair. It is also a fact that Fred had the hot temper that is popularly
supposed to go with hair of that color. It did not take much to get him
angry. Still he was generous and straight as a string, and he and Bobby
got on famously together. Bobby often had his hands full in getting Fred
out of the scrapes into which the red-headed boy’s quick temper led him,
and sometimes he did not succeed. But the boys formed a perfect team,
and where one was the other was quite sure not to be far away.
They made some good friends at the school and when vacation came they
were invited to visit one of them, Perry Wise, the fat boy called “Pee
Wee,” at the home of his parents on the coast. Here the boys had a great
time fishing, boating, and swimming and found themselves with an
exciting adventure on their hands in hunting for a missing boat. These
and other adventures of the school chums are related in other volumes of
the “Bobby Blake Series.”
And now to return to Bobby where he stood tense and undaunted, awaiting
the onslaught of the bully whom he had discovered with his gang robbing
Dr. Raymond’s orchard.
“So you got the number of the car, did you?” snarled the leader of the
gang, Hen Lemming. “Well, now let me tell you, bo, that I’ve got your
number too, and it’s number twenty-three. Do you get me? Twenty-three.
That’s a mighty unlucky number, too, as you’ll find out, for I’m going
to change the map of that face of yours for buttin’ in.”
As he spoke he made a rush at Bobby with his fist upraised.
Quick as a flash, Bobby grabbed for his legs, as he had often done when
tackling an opponent on a football field. It was a perfect tackle, and
the bully went down with a crash, so hard, indeed, that he lay sprawling
on the ground, stunned for the moment.
In an instant Bobby was on his feet again. “One of you hold that fellow
down!” he cried, assuming command of the situation. “Here, Pee Wee, you
sit on him.”
Pee Wee instantly obeyed, and his ponderous weight settled on Lemming’s
back, keeping him flat to the ground despite the desperate attempts of
the reviving bully to throw him off.
“Now,” said Bobby, facing the rest of the intruders, who had stood for a
moment paralyzed by the sudden downfall of their leader, “who’s the next
one that wants to start something?”
They faced him, growling and storming, but irresolute. The fellow in the
tree had now dropped down and joined his companions.
“We’re going to smash you for this,” he threatened, as he rolled up his
sleeves.
Fred and the rest of the boys had gathered about Bobby ready to pitch in
if need be, and the hostile groups faced each other frowningly. Fred
suddenly set up a loud whistle, the well-known Rockledge call for aid.
“Look out, Bobby!” suddenly cried Pee Wee.
Bobby wheeled at the cry and saw the driver of the car, who had climbed
the fence and was running to the help of his companions, holding a large
stone in his hand.
He was not more than ten yards away and he raised the stone to hurl it
at Bobby’s head.
But Bobby was too quick for him. In his pocket was the baseball with
which he and Fred had been practicing. Like lightning he drew it out and
threw it at the driver with all his strength.
The ball caught the fellow right below the breastbone and he doubled up
like a jackknife. The stone dropped from his hand, and he sat down
suddenly on the grass, trying to recover the breath that had been
knocked out of him.
“Get the ball, Fred,” commanded Bobby, and like a flash Fred retrieved
it and put it in Bobby’s hand. Then Fred gave another loud whistle for
aid.
“Now,” said Bobby, as he whirled about and faced the group of enemies,
who were fairly gasping with astonishment, “that takes care of two of
you fellows. Want any more of our game?”
It was very evident that they did not. What they had seen of Bobby’s
quickness and resource had been quite enough. And that baseball at such
close quarters looked like a mighty powerful weapon. Besides, they could
hear the shouts of other schoolboys not far away. All the easy victory
the gang had promised itself over these younger and slighter opponents
vanished like smoke.
There was no answer except mutterings and growls, and the fellow who had
dropped from the tree slowly put on his coat.
“You boys have got the edge on us just now,” he snarled. “But don’t
think for a minute that you’re through with us. We’ll get you some time,
and what we’ll do to you will be a-plenty. Ain’t that so, Lemming?” he
asked of the fellow who had been sat upon.
“We’ll take a chance on you,” replied Bobby heatedly.
The toughs started to go away from the tree, but one of them picked up
the bag of apples they had gathered to take along.
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Bobby. “Drop that.”
The fellow glared at him, but evidently thought it best to obey.
“Ain’t you going to let him up?” asked one of them, pointing to his
prostrate leader. “Going to keep him there all night?”
“He’ll get up when you get on the other side of that fence,” replied
Bobby.
They picked up the driver on the way and Bobby waited until they had all
climbed into the car.
“Now, Pee Wee,” he said, “let that fellow up.”
Pee Wee, much gratified at the prominent part his weight had permitted
him to take in the contest, got off his prostrate victim and Lemming
struggled to his feet, his face livid and his whole body shaking with
rage at his humiliation and defeat. For a moment it seemed as if he
would rush at Bobby like a mad bull, but a glance at the faces of the
boys and at the baseball that Bobby held ready for action convinced him
for the present that discretion was the better part of valor.
“You ain’t heard the last of this,” he snapped. “I’ll get even with you.
And when I once get hold of you away from your gang I’ll make you wish
you had never been born.”
“Your pals are waiting for you,” was all the response that Bobby
vouchsafed, while he watched his enemy with the eye of a hawk.
With muttered imprecations, Lemming slouched sullenly away and climbed
the fence. Before he got into the car he turned and shook his fist
vengefully and shouted out a torrent of threats. But Bobby simply
laughed, and with a honking of the horn that was in itself a promise of
vengeance the car started up and rolled away.
They watched it until it had passed from sight and then turned and
looked at each other. Other boys now came running up, having heard
Fred’s whistle for help.
“Bobby, you’re a trump,” cried Fred, in admiration as he clapped his
friend on the shoulder.
All crowded round their leader and showered him with praise until Bobby
blushed to the ears.
“Lay off, you fellows,” he cried in some confusion. “The chance simply
came my way and I took it. It simply shows that football and baseball
tactics are good for something besides games.”
“I thought sure it was coming to a regular fist fight and I was bracing
myself for it,” put in Skeets. “But, thanks to Bobby, none of us got a
scratch.”
“They’d have had a good chance of getting away with it, too,” affirmed
Billy. “They were big husky fellows, almost men, and they’d probably
have been too heavy for our bunch. It simply shows that brains and
muscle combined are a good sight better than muscle alone.”
“Weight isn’t such a bad thing either,” remarked Pee Wee.
“Right you are, old boy,” laughed Fred. “It would have taken three of us
to hold that fellow down as well as you did. You sure did yourself
proud.”
“I’d hate to be the driver of that car,” grinned Skeets. “You doubled
him up good and plenty, Bobby. He went down as though he had been shot.”
“One strike and out,” laughed Fred. “Bobby’s eyesight was good. He put
the ball right over the plate.”
There was more excited talk, then one of the boys who had come running
to help their comrades but who had arrived too late said to those who
had come with him:
“Well, come on, fellows. Let’s go about our business. This bunch is all
right now.” With these words he turned and went off, his especial
friends going with him.