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"Any others?" "Not likely." "Good! Take a tumble to yourself and skip." Ditson did so. "Now, fellows," hurriedly said Browning, "be ready for a struggle. Remember that Merriwell is a scrapper and he is likely to resist. We must take him completely by surprise. Get back and lay quiet till I give the signal."
A white-throated, white-breasted bird, having a black cap and back, and a broad white band across the end of his tail, was darting at Redtail as if he meant to pull out every feather in the latter's coat. He was just a little smaller than Welcome Robin, and in comparison with him Redtail was a perfect giant. But this seemed to make no difference to Scrapper, for that is who it was.
He took them quite modestly, assuring them that he had done nothing, nothing at all, but that he didn't intend to have any of the Hawk family around the Old Orchard while he lived there. Peter couldn't help but admire Scrapper for his courage. As Peter looked up at Scrapper he saw that, like all the rest of the flycatchers, there was just the tiniest of hooks on the end of his bill.
"Didn't take you more'n a week to change your mind about pullin' it off with that tinhorn scrapper in the courts, did it?" "No," said Winton. "'Tain't none o' my business, but I'd like to know what stampeded you." "A telegram," shortly. "It was a put-up job to have me locked up on a criminal charge, and so hold me out another day." Biggin grinned. "The old b'iler-buster again.
"You are going with me from here to a little restaurant I know, near by, and you are going to hear me out. I know that you're going through sheer hell, and I know a game scrapper when I meet one whether it be a man or woman. This business teaches a fellow several things." In the end she went. An hour later she felt as if she had known Smitherton for a long while and could rely upon him.
"He's interesting and he's a gentleman, and he has a certain force about him, and he's" she paused, groping for a characterization "he's unexpected." "What gets me," said Kathleen, in her easy slang, "is that he never pulls any knighthood-in-flower stuff, yet you somehow feel it's there. Know what I mean? There's a scrapper behind that nice-boy smile."
"Look up over your head," cried the voice, rather a harsh voice. Peter looked, then all in a flash it came to him who it was Chebec had meant by the handsomest member of his family. It was Cresty the Great Crested Flycatcher. He was a wee bit bigger than Scrapper the Kingbird, yet not quite so big as Welcome Robin, and more slender.
Sounds like the whole works had stopped to listen to a fella. Swearin' ain't so hefty then. Sort of outdoor stage fright, I reckon. Say, do you believe preachin' ever did much good?" "Sometimes I've thought it did." "I seen a case once," began Overland reminiscently. "It was Toledo Blake. He was a kind of bum middleweight scrapper when he was workin' at it.
He was a pretty good scrapper in his time, and now he's up here looking after some gent's prize dogs. "Well, I goes to him and borrows his kid. He's a scrappy sort of kid at that and weighs ten pounds more than his nibs; but I reckoned he'd have to do, and I thought I could stay around and part 'em if they got to mixing it."
"Did you say your fighting cousin?" he asked in a hesitating way. "That's what I said," replied Chebec. "He is Scrapper the Kingbird, as of course you know. The rest of us always feel safe when he is about." "Of course I know him," declared Peter, his face clearing. "Where is he now?"
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