“Yah!” shrieked Chub Newton, in wild delight. “That’s the way to talk! L-l-listen to that, Bul-l-ly! You’re goin’ to hear things, al-l-l right!”
Bully favored Chub with a black look.
“I’ve give you one lesson about closin’ that jaw of yours, Chub,” he grated. “You’d better lay mighty low, mind my words!”
There was something in the tone and aspect of the fellow that struck a responsive chord in Merriwell’s memory. What the familiarity was, he could not fathom. However, he was sure that there was a familiarity.
“L-l-light into him, Bil-l-ly!” pleaded Chub, his shrill voice appearing to irritate Bully like the buzzing of a mosquito. The latter shook his fist threateningly.
“You heard what I said!” he roared. “Shut that jaw, or I’ll show you what a real lambastin’ is, you tow-headed little rat!”
“I don’t think you will, Bully,” said McQuade. Merriwell had thrown him a warning look, and he had curbed his temper.
“Hey? Why not?” The big fellow turned on Billy, seeming to comprehend for the first time that he was being actually interfered with. “I suppose you’ll stop me, hey?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking it over quite a while,” admitted Billy, with a grin. “Try a fresh cigarette, Bully. It might help you to get ideas faster.”
Chub Newton waved his arms in delight. A few passers-by were pausing to listen to the altercation, and the little fellow turned to them eagerly.