Spat! spat!—both eggs landed.
"Good-by," said the boy, catching up his gun. "Next time you kick a feller take somebody of your size. Hope you’ve had lots of fun. I have."
With these words he hurried away into the woods, the dog following, leaving the wretched boy in the tree to get down as best he could.
CHAPTER XII.
THE HUMILIATION OF SCUDDER.
The Fardale football-team, returning to the academy after a period of sharp practise, were surprised to hear feeble cries for help. Upon investigation they found Uric Scudder still hanging from the limb of the tree, as he had been left by the revengeful youngster.
"What it is?" grunted Big Bob Singleton, placing his hands on his hips and staring in astonishment at the egg-bespattered chap.
"Whoop!" cried Brad Buckhart. "From the smell I should say it’s something that has died."
Although not on the team, Teddy Smart had been permitted to witness the practise.
"My! my! what a delightful odor!" he chirped. "Talk about your attar of roses! This has any old attar skinned to death!"
"For Heaven’s sake help me!" whined Uric. "I’m almost dead!"