Ralph made no comment on this. He had his own ideas on the subject, but did not feel warranted in fully expressing them.
“I believe that Fogg started out on your run yesterday to queer it. Why he changed tactics later, I can’t tell. Maybe he was scared by the smash-up on the siding. Anyhow, I never saw such mortal malice in the face of any man as that I saw in his when I came aboard No. 999. This crowd down the street is evidently after you. Some one has put them up to it.”
“Oh, you can’t mean Fogg!” exclaimed Ralph.
“I don’t know,” replied Clark.
“I can’t believe that he would plot against me that far,” declared Ralph.
“A malicious enemy will do anything to reach his ends,” said Clark. “Doesn’t he want you knocked out? Doesn’t he want your place? What would suit his plans better than to have you so mauled and battered, that you couldn’t show up for the return trip to Stanley Junction this afternoon? Are you going past that crowd?”
“I certainly shall not show the white feather by going out of my way,” replied Ralph.
“Well, if that’s your disposition, I’m at your call if they tackle us,” announced Clark.
They proceeded down the street, and Ralph as they advanced had a good view of the crowd, 42 which, according to the views of his companion, was laying in wait for him. There were about fifteen of them, ranging from selfish-faced lads of ten or so up to big, hulking fellows of twenty. They represented the average city gang of idlers and hoodlums. They were hanging around the entrance to the alley as if waiting for some mischief to turn up. Ralph noticed a rustling among them as he was observed. They grouped together. He fancied one or two of them pointed at him, but there was no further indication of belligerent attention as he and Clark approached nearer to the crowd.
“I fancy Billy Bouncer, whoever he is, hasn’t arrived yet,” observed Clark.