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You won't dare show your faces, you two thugs!" Again his gaze travelled along the empty, sunlit road. "Anyway, I didn't say anything I didn't have a right to say. You asked me what I thought and I told you. You you made me say it!" "I did, Dreer!" Amy shook his head gently. "Think again. Surely, I didn't do that?" "Well, he did," faltered Dreer. "And you put him up to it, I'll bet!
Penny turned and observed Clint quite calmly, although Clint could see that he was trembling in every nerve and muscle. "I'm not going to touch him again," replied Penny. "I should think not!" Clint leaned over the motionless Dreer anxiously. "Here, take hold of him and get him inside. You help, too, kid, whatever your name is. Get him on the bed and shut the door.
What met his eyes as he opened the door from the staircase well, however, put Amy quite out of his mind for awhile. The door of his own room was closed, but the doors of 13 and 15 were open, and midway between them a rather startling drama was being enacted. The participants were Penny Durkin, Harmon Dreer and a smaller boy whose name afterwards transpired to be Melville.
After that there was no more chance of study, for Clint had to tell of the fracas between Penny and Dreer while Amy, stretched in the Morris chair, listened interestedly. When Clint ended Amy whistled softly and expressively. "Think of old Penny Durkin scrapping like that!" he said. Then, with a smile, he added regretfully: "Wish I'd seen it! Handed him a regular knock-out, eh?
"You were twisting his arm and making him cry. Now you let the kid alone, Dreer. If you want to try that sort of thing you try it on me." "All right!" Dreer stepped forward and shot his closed fist into Penny's face. The blow missed its full force, since Penny, seeing it coming, dodged so that it caught him on the side of the chin. But it was enough to send him staggering to the wall.
"Penny can't touch him, but that doesn't say I can't. I haven't any scholarship to lose." "But you can't go and knock Dreer down for what he did to someone else," objected Clint. "Why can't I, if I want to?" "But but they'd expel you or or something." "I wonder! Well, maybe they would. Yes, I guess so. Consequently, I'll knock him down on my own account ostensibly, Clint, ostensibly."
A fellow who has been to one school and got fired and then goes to another and is always shooting off his mouth about how much better the first school is is the worst kind of pill. And that's the kind Harmon Dreer is. He went to Claflin for a year and a half and then got into some sort of mess and was expelled. Then the next Fall he came here.
When the pitcher lifted his arm Dreer dashed for home-base, and seemed beating the ball. But Hickle deftly dumped it down the line and broke for first while Dreer scored. This bunt was not fielded at all. How the bleachers roared! Then followed bunts in rapid succession, dashes for first, and slides into the bag.
I'm just telling you about it." "Then you let me go, Byrd! I didn't hurt his old fiddle!" "Tut, tut! You mustn't think I'm knocking you around on account of that. Oh dear, no! I wouldn't have any right to do that, Dreer. What I'm doing is punishing you for speaking disrespectfully of our dear old Alma Mater. Look out for your face, Dreer!"
"I haven't done anything to you." "You spoke disrespectfully of the school, Dreer. I told you you mustn't. I'm terribly fond of the dear old school and it hurts me to hear it maligned. And then there's Durkin's violin, Dreer. Perhaps you haven't heard about that." A gleam of comprehension flashed in the boy's face and he backed up against the fence.
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