To the left was a dark and narrow street, which looked rather forbidding and dangerous.
“I believe the cry came from this street,” said Frank, to himself. “If there were a few lights——”
“Help!”
There could be no mistake this time; the cry did come from that street. A short distance away in the darkness a struggle seemed to be going on. Frank could hear the sound of blows, hoarse breathing, muttered exclamations and cries of pain.
“Some fellow is being done up there!” thought the boy from Yale.
Without further hesitation he ran toward the point from which the sounds seemed to come.
In a moment Frank was close upon two dark forms that were battling fiercely on the ground. He could see them indistinctly in the darkness.
“Ah-h-h, you little whelp!” snarled a harsh voice “So ye will run away, hey? Well, ye’ll never run away no more after this!”
“Oh, please, please don’t beat me so!” pleaded a weak voice. “You—you are killing me! Oh! oh! oh!”
“I’ll make ye ‘oh, oh, oh!’” grated the other.