“Watch Bul-l-ly catch it!” he sang out shrilly. “He’s going to get a fal-l-len on harder than the Sprucetown batters fel-l-l on him l-l-l-last Saturday!”
At this the big fellow’s face went positively black with rage. It was clear that he could think of no taunts to fling back at his diminutive foe, so he did the next best thing that occurred to him. He took a swift step toward Chub, his fists clenched.
“No you don’t!”
Billy Mac leaped forward and caught his shoulder, twirling him around.
“Look out!” roared Bully furiously. “I’ll mash that smart-alec mouth o’ yours, you fool! Go home an’ dress yourself!”
“I’d make a better job of it than you’ve done,” retorted Billy, with contempt.
Among the gathering array a quick smile passed, with significant looks at the loud attire of the big fellow. This only served to infuriate him the more. It was clear to Chip that Bully was by no means a favorite, though for some reason no voice was lifted against him, save that of Chub Newton.
“Go for him, ol-l-ld scout!” Chub shrieked. “You can l-l-lick him easy! He’s got a yel-l-ler streak!”
“And you’ve got a yelling streak,” observed Merry, with a laugh.
Glaring from his deep-set eyes, Bully stepped toward McQuade.