“Then—fire!”
Whizz! Spat!
The major missed, but the professor’s aim was accurate, and he struck Fitts fairly in the centre of his white shirt bosom. The man from Mississippi staggered and clapped his hand to his nose.
“Oh, whew! Oh, murder!” he gasped. “That was not an egg! If it was it was laid two thousand years ago!”
Whizz!—another one flew past the major’s ear. This aroused him, and he got into action once more. Eggs flew through the air with increasing rapidity. While stooping to get a fresh supply of ammunition from his basket, Zenas was struck fairly on top of his bald head. The yellow mass spattered in all directions.
A strong odor filled the air, reaching the nostrils of both Dick and Brad, who were laughing heartily.
“Great horn spoon!” gurgled the Texan. “For a duel this sure beats! Look at ’em, pard! The professor got it in the neck that time! There—he hit the major! They’ll be sights in a minute!”
Dick was laughing in his old, rollicking way.
“Oh, ha, ha, ha! Go it, professor! Soak him! That’s the way! Ha, ha, ha!”
Never had that grim and gloomy cemetery resounded with such shouts of merriment.