"Hold on, George!" begged Tom with a smile. "Just shut off your gas, throw back your spark, and put on the brakes. You're skidding a bit."
"Aw, say, I want to be in on it," begged the small chap earnestly.
"Oh, you will be all right," Jack assured him.
"The whole Sophomore class will be in it when we give those fellows the lesson they need."
"I'd—I'd like to———" began Bert energetically as he clenched his fists and look at the departing car, which was now almost hidden in a cloud of dust. "I'm going to———"
"Hold on," broke in Tom soothingly. "Let me prescribe for you, Bertie my boy," and taking his arm he steered his chum around and toward the little shack where Pop Swab held forth.
As they filed into the little building two other school lads passed by.
"What's going on?" asked Bruce Bennington, one of the twain.
"Oh, it's Tom Fairfield and some of his chums," answered Morse Denton.
"I don't know just what the row is, but I heard that Sam Heller and
Nick Johnson played some kind of a mean trick on Tom and Bert and Jack
this summer. I don't just know the particulars."
"That's so," agreed Bruce. "I did hear something about it. Feel like having some pop?"