It may be this offer tempted Glennon, or perhaps the fellow thought it best to get out of the yard before the man could get hold of him; anyhow, he started with Scudder in hot pursuit of the running boy, who was making off as fast as his legs could carry him.
"I know that young whelp!" grated Uric, remembering his experience with the boy and the dog in the woods. "I owe him a score, and I’ll willingly give five dollars to settle it."
The boy looked back at them and whooped gaily, kicking up his heels. He waved the letter over his head, tauntingly yelling:
"Don’t you wish you had it?"
"I’ll get it!" panted Scudder. "Run, Glennon—run! I’ll surely give you five dollars if you catch him!"
"Then he’s my meat!" said the Hudsonville chap, as he sprinted after the boy, who had reached the road and was making off toward The Harbor.
Glennon was a swift runner, and he soon led Scudder, whose wind had been impaired by cigarette-smoking.
The boy quickly realized that it would not be an easy thing to get away from one of his pursuers, and he set his teeth and ran as if his life depended on the effort. Over the crest of the rise they went, and started down the road toward The Harbor, a huddled collection of old buildings and decaying wharves.
At one time this had been the main part of Fardale village, but with the advent of the steam railroad there had come a change, and the respectable portion of the town had "moved over the hill."
Straight for the old wharves ran the lad with the letter, Glennon seeming to gain on him each moment. A few rough people about the old huts looked on in languid interest. An old woman, with her apron thrown back over her shoulder and her hands on her hips, stood by a rickety gate and laughed.