“No, not a bit,” was the cool answer.
The ruffians were astounded by the fight made by the two fellows they had expected to overcome with ease. They had never before struck anything just like that, and, for a moment, they hesitated.
The leader, however, was raving like a madman, made insanely furious by the rebuff.
“At ’em again! at ’em again!” he fumed. “I’ll make it ten more each. Do ’em up some way!”
A scornful laugh came from Frank.
“So these are your hired bruisers, my fine chap!” he cried. “Well, they are fit associates for a creature of your low instincts. It’s a hundred to one you land behind the bars with the rest of them.”
The fellow urged his satellites to a fresh attack, and they came at the boys once more. The one Frank kicked had recovered and joined in the new assault, although he took care not to get another one from Merry’s feet, for which he had a healthy respect.
The fight was resumed with fresh vigor, but still Frank and Bart held their own, for they had been given a few moments to recover their breath.
“Why, this is a regular cinch!” cried Frank as with a corking left-hander he bowled one of the masked rascals over. “I haven’t struck so much sport as this in an age! Hit hard, Bart—hit hard!”
No need to tell Hodge to hit hard; he was putting in his best licks, and they were counting. Blood was running down his face, but he did not realize he had been touched at all.