“Well,” he insisted surlily, “we oughtn’t to let ’em get away with it, just the same. They’d ought to go back home so’s they’d know what they’d been up against.”
A general mutter of assent went up. On this point, at least, it was evident that the Clippers thoroughly agreed with their captain.
“Well, what’s the process?” inquired Murray, the second baseman.
Bully gathered them around him, with a wary glance at the other occupants of the pool room. He lit a cigarette, got it drooping in approved fashion from one corner of his mouth, then explained himself.
“I happen to know that Merriwell’s old man is goin’ off by the express. I heard ’em say somethin’ about it. More’n likely, the kid and that carrot top who played first will come down to see the old man off. It’s gettin’ along toward train time, and if we went down we’d be liable to meet them two comin’ back. If the whole crowd’s with ’em, so much the better.”
“Count me out,” growled Squint Fletcher. “I got both eyes shut.”
“It ain’t so bad, Bully,” said Ironton. “We can beat ’em up proper, eh? Guess there’s enough of us without Squint.”
Bully Carson’s proposal was accepted without any great enthusiasm, but it was decided that Merriwell and his friends needed a lesson, consequently they must be given it without delay.
So, after rolling fresh cigarettes, the party decamped toward the railroad station. There were six of them, all told, for two had remained to help Squint Fletcher home, but it was conceded that six Clippers would be enough to handle Merriwell and as many of his “gang” as might be with him.
While nearing the station, which was situated at some little distance from the center of town, the train was heard pulling out. Ironton had hastened ahead, and a moment later he returned with word that Merriwell and two others were coming. The Clippers hastily disposed themselves in a dark doorway.