“Get up!” invited Merry, standing over him—“get up, and I will give you another dose!”
“Excuse me!” gasped the fellow, as he scrambled away on his hands and knees, sprang up and followed the rest of the young thugs.
It was over; the gang had been put to flight, and it had been accomplished in a very few moments.
Hodge stood there, panting, glaring about, looking surprised and disappointed, as well as angry.
“That was too easy!” he exclaimed. “I thought we were in for a fight.”
“Evidently they did not stand for our kind of fighting,” smiled Frank. “It surprised them so that they threw up the sponge before the fight was fairly begun.”
“I didn’t get half enough of it,” muttered Bart.
During the fight the old actor had risen to his feet. Now Frank picked up his hat and restored it to him, after brushing some dirt from it. The man received it with a profound bow. Placing it on his head, he thrust his right hand into the bosom of his coat, struck a pose, and cried:
“‘Are yet two Romans living such as these?
The last of all the Romans!’”
“We saw you were in trouble,” said Merry, “and we hastened to give you such assistance as we could.”