“Hel-l-lup!” At sight of Chip Merriwell and Billy Mac, the smaller of the two figures uttered a shrill appeal. As the bully straightened up, the little fellow writhed away and danced over to the side of the road.
“Hello, Chub!” cried Billy, pausing. “What’s the trouble? Were you playing?”
“Pl-l-laying nothing!” returned Chub shrilly, dancing about in his rage, and pointing at his tormentor. “That big stiff said I rooted too much for the visiting team l-l-l-last Saturday! He caught me and was l-l-lambasting me!”
Chip saw that his friend was fully competent to handle the situation, and stood back. There was something comical about the helpless rage of Chub, and about his manner of stumbling speech, that amused Merriwell.
“You’re a fine sort of sport, I don’t think!” exclaimed Billy Mac, addressing the bully. “Just because a fellow doesn’t root for you, you want to punish him—and a little chap like Chub, too!”
The bully glowered at Billy Mac in a threatening fashion. He was a hulking big fellow, wearing a sporty necktie of flaming red, and a loud-checked[23] suit. His features were heavy and overbearing, with deep-set black eyes, that gleamed maliciously, and from one corner of his mouth drooped a burned-out cigarette.
“What’s it to you, Billy Mac?” he growled menacingly. “You’d better not try to show off around here, just because you been to a military academy fer a few months!”
“There’s no one showing off around here except that necktie of yours,” snapped Billy Mac. “It’s a wonder you couldn’t find a baby to lick, you coward!”
It became evident to Merry that the two knew each other, and that his friend cherished a thorough dislike for the bully.
“Give it to him, Bil-l-ly!” chirruped Chub, who was well out of danger by this time. It seemed impossible for the little chap to pronounce the letter “l” without spilling it out by degrees. “L-l-l-lam him for me!”
The big fellow sneered.
“I suppose you think you can run the place, Billy Mac, now that you’ve been away to school, hey? You think you are a real athlete, with them underwear things on, don’t you?”
Seeing that his friend was speechless with rage, Merriwell interfered.
“It’s quite evident that you’re not fitted to pass on athletes, my friend,” he broke in ironically. “I’ve always found that the fellow who goes[24] around with a coffin nail sticking in his face is the one who sticks in the bleachers. He doesn’t get out and toss the ball very much.”
For some reason, this speech seemed to infuriate the bully. He whirled on Merry with a snarl of anger.
“Smart guy, ain’t you? I suppose you’re that Merriwell kid that Billy’s been blowin’ about so much?”
“It seems that you have some brain left, in spite of cigarettes,” returned Merry dryly. “You’re supposing a lot of things, my friend. It might strike you to suppose that your absence is better than your company.”
“Oh, is that so?” The big fellow clenched his fists, glaring. “Say, fer about two cents I’d take you down a peg, Slim-shanks!”
Billy Mac turned quickly.
“Look here, Chip, you butt out of this!” he demanded. “Chub Newton’s a friend of mine, and this isn’t your quarrel.”
“All right, old man,” said Merriwell, waving his hand. “I’ll gladly turn over our genial friend to you. He looks as if a dose of McQuade compound would improve his health a good deal.”
“Yah!” shrieked Chub Newton, in wild delight. “That’s the way to talk! L-l-listen to that, Bul-l-ly! You’re goin’ to hear things, al-l-l right!”
Bully favored Chub with a black look.
[25]
“I’ve give you one lesson about closin’ that jaw of yours, Chub,” he grated. “You’d better lay mighty low, mind my words!”
There was something in the tone and aspect of the fellow that struck a responsive chord in Merriwell’s memory. What the familiarity was, he could not fathom. However, he was sure that there was a familiarity.
“L-l-light into him, Bil-l-ly!” pleaded Chub, his shrill voice appearing to irritate Bully like the buzzing of a mosquito. The latter shook his fist threateningly.
“You heard what I said!” he roared. “Shut that jaw, or I’ll show you what a real lambastin’ is, you tow-headed little rat!”
“I don’t think you will, Bully,” said McQuade. Merriwell had thrown him a warning look, and he had curbed his temper.
“Hey? Why not?” The big fellow turned on Billy, seeming to comprehend for the first time that he was being actually interfered with. “I suppose you’ll stop me, hey?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking it over quite a while,” admitted Billy, with a grin. “Try a fresh cigarette, Bully. It might help you to get ideas faster.”
Chub Newton waved his arms in delight. A few passers-by were pausing to listen to the altercation, and the little fellow turned to them eagerly.
[26]
“Watch Bul-l-ly catch it!” he sang out shrilly. “He’s going to get a fal-l-len on harder than the Sprucetown batters fel-l-l on him l-l-l-last Saturday!”
At this the big fellow’s face went positively black with rage. It was clear that he could think of no taunts to fling back at his diminutive foe, so he did the next best thing that occurred to him. He took a swift step toward Chub, his fists clenched.
“No you don’t!”
Billy Mac leaped forward and caught his shoulder, twirling him around.
“Look out!” roared Bully furiously. “I’ll mash that smart-alec mouth o’ yours, you fool! Go home an’ dress yourself!”
“I’d make a better job of it than you’ve done,” retorted Billy, with contempt.
Among the gathering array a quick smile passed, with significant looks at the loud attire of the big fellow. This only served to infuriate him the more. It was clear to Chip that Bully was by no means a favorite, though for some reason no voice was lifted against him, save that of Chub Newton.
“Go for him, ol-l-ld scout!” Chub shrieked. “You can l-l-lick him easy! He’s got a yel-l-ler streak!”
“And you’ve got a yelling streak,” observed Merry, with a laugh.
[27]
Glaring from his deep-set eyes, Bully stepped toward McQuade.
“I guess you need a lesson,” he growled. “You’re gettin’ too all-fired smart around this town, for a pauper.”
Billy went white.
“I’d sooner be a pauper than the son of a crook,” he snapped. “And I’d sooner be the son of a crook, than a crook myself, Bully!”
A murmur of applause went up from the crowd. It was cut short by a roar from the big fellow.
“Call me a crook, will you!”
With a quick lunge forward, he aimed a vicious blow at Billy Mac. The backstop did not appreciate the compliment, however.
Catching the blow on his arm, he took a quick step in, and there was a dull smack. Bully went staggering back.
“Yah!” chirruped Chub, in great glee. “I tol-l-ld you! L-l-lam him again!”
The big fellow hesitated, with a surprised expression on his face. Evidently concluding that an accident had happened, he rushed at Billy with a shout.
“Here’s where you get yours, smart alec!”
Billy Mac did not seem at all disturbed over the prospect. He waited the rush quietly, and, as the big fellow drove in another blow, Billy caught[28] the arm. He turned, jerked the other’s wrist over his shoulder, and Bully flew over him into the dust. This brought a shout of applause from the spectators.
It was a simple jujutsu trick. Billy Mac had not learned it very adroitly, but he had learned it well enough to spill his adversary head over heels. Bully was unhurt, and was up instantly, brushing at his gay attire.
“Got some luck, ain’t you!” he sneered furiously.
“Better not try my luck again,” said Billy Mac, with a laugh.
Chub Newton let out a shrill yell.
“L-l-look at the l-l-loud guy now! Yah! Why don’t you cl-l-laim you stubbed your toe, Bul-l-ly Carson?”
Merriwell started. Could it be possible that this fellow was the son of Colonel Carson, of whom Billy Mac had spoken—the baseball player? Yes, he placed the chap now. The features and voice were not unlike those of Colonel Carson.
However, he had no time to conjecture further. Bully went at Billy Mac with a second rush, this time exercising more caution. McQuade had to depend entirely on his quickness, and proved that it was quite dependable.
He slipped aside, raising a cloud of dust as he[29] did so, and tried to trip his opponent. Bully staggered and lost his balance, and, as his arm flew out wide, Billy Mac stepped in and his fist went out.
Again there came a sharp crack as the blow landed. The big fellow, struck fairly on the angle of the jaw below the ear, shivered, and then went reeling across the street. He pulled up at the fence, clinging to it desperately.
“Yah! He’s scared out!” cried Chub.
So, indeed, it seemed. The blow had not been hard enough to knock him out, yet he made no offer to return to the fight. Instead, he raised his fist and shook it menacingly.
“You’ll suffer for this!” he exclaimed. “You wait till I see dad!”
“Yah!” shrilled Chub Newton, dancing wildly. “Go put a muffl-l-ler on your new cl-l-lothes, Bully Carson!”
Bully moved off, evidently sick of the encounter. Since it was plainly over, the spectators drifted away, and Chub Newton thanked his rescuer. Billy Mac introduced him to Frank Merriwell, junior, but seemed to have little delight in his victory.
“Now I am in for it, and no mistake!” he exclaimed, looking after the big fellow.
“Why?”
“Didn’t you notice the resemblance?”
[30]
“Well, yes. And I heard Chub call him Bully Carson——”
“Yes, that’s his usual nickname. He is Colonel Carson’s son, Chip. And I guess you can see that I’ve done a pretty bad morning’s work for the McQuade family.”