“I think they’ve had enough punishment, to judge by the way they acted. Let it go, fellows. You aren’t hurt?”
“Nary scratch,” said Clancy. “Somebody hit me with a brick, but it struck my shoulder and didn’t hurt. Of course, if you think it’s better not to prosecute ’em, I’m agreeable. But I’d like to see that cuss Carson do time for this business.”
Frank nodded. He knew exactly how his chum felt in the matter, but the Clippers had received fair punishment, and their attack had failed. When he went on to state that by prosecuting Carson they would be detained in town, the others agreed instantly.
“Sure,” said Billy. “We couldn’t afford to miss that Franklin game. I wish you two obstinate mules wouldn’t go to the hotel, though.”
“We’ll let your mother get a little sleep,” said Clancy. “She got a bang-up supper after the game, and it wouldn’t be fair to impose on her, Billy. I’ll take you back to-morrow in the _Hornet_, if you’ll sit on the running board.”
“You bet I will! Just the same, I wish we were goin’ back to-night,” added Billy, with a worried note in his voice. “The Carsons are down on you because you helped me, Chip, and they never overlook an injury.”
“I don’t think Bully will overlook anything for a day or two,” said Frank. “I landed on his right eye twice, anyhow. Nonsense, Billy! He’s tried for a cowardly revenge and he’s failed, and that closes up the incident. We’ll get back to Fardale to-morrow night if your mother doesn’t kill us with that chicken dinner she promised for to-morrow.”
“Yum!” and Clancy smacked his lips. “Billy, don’t say anything more about our going back to-night, or I’ll assassinate you! Wow! Your mother’s chicken dinners certainly do hit me in the right spot!”
“All right,” retorted Billy Mac. “But I’d bet you fifteen thousand dollars and a half that we hear from that crowd again!”
Merry flung the initialed hat into the street, and they went on their way. None of the three observed a shadowy form that followed them at a little distance, as if spying on their movements.
Bully Carson, long after midnight, was still sitting over a washbowl in his room at home, bathing a startlingly black eye. It was a painful operation.
He was growling savagely to himself as he worked. There was a strong smell of arnica in the air, while his room was decorated with cigarette stubs and hastily discarded garments. These latter were calculated to be striking in appearance, and they were. When attired in all his glory, Bully Carson, as Billy Mac said, could be heard coming a full mile away.