“Plenty of other ways to find amusement, so far as I’m concerned, and so put me down as being with you, Dick, if you feel that you’ve got to give Nat away to Mr. Holwell,” observed Elmer Jones, positively.
Nat glared around him. To tell the truth every one seemed against him save his crony Dit Hennesy.
“Oh! well,” he laughed harshly; “seein’ that you’re so timid a bunch, I’ll call the joke off. Reckon I can finish my little imaginary conversation between the ghost and the cobbler without tryin’ it on the dog. And you needn’t say a word to Mr. Holwell about it, Dick; unless you’re itchin’ to get me put out of the game so you could have a walk-over.”
Dick felt the sneer, and turned red, but held his ground.
“I’ll promise not to say a word to Mr. Holwell,” he told Nat. “But I mean to let Limpy know some boys are thinking of playing a practical joke on him one of these nights, so he can carry a pistol along with him when he goes to sit by the grave of his wife. That’s all I’ve got to say about it.”
“Oh! forget it,” sneered Nat. “I don’t take any chances with a shooting-iron. Limpy needn’t bother, for I won’t molest him.”
The look he gave Dick as he turned away was an ugly one.
“Better watch out more than ever for Nat, Dick,” cautioned Leslie, as the two of them walked home together that evening. “He’s got it in for you as sure as anything.”
“Oh! I’m not bothering my head about his ever laying a hand on me,” declared the other boy, indifferently. “I only wish I could be as sure that his farce wouldn’t make my effort look silly. From what they say, Nat must be a rattling good hand at writing that sort of thing. Of course, I’ll keep on trying my best, but I’m afraid there isn’t much chance of my winning those twenty-five gold dollars.”