As Joe landed in a heap on Sam, Sawyer, the stage manager, stared at Frank Merriwell in wonder and admiration.
“How did ye do it?” he muttered. “Why, Sam Hooker didn’t seem to bother you no more’n his brother Joe, and both of ’em was pie.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” roared Ephraim Gallup, slapping his thigh. “I did think that big feller was dangerous, but he was disposed of so gol-darn easy that it was over before I knowed it hed begun.”
“And he is the terror of the town!” gurgled Sawyer.
“When he come up here, I ruther thought I’d like to be to hum on the farm, b’gosh!” confessed Ephraim; “but now I wouldn’t hev missed it fer a hull acre of pertaturs.”
“Mr. Merriwell is a noted amateur athlete,” said Billy Wynne, speaking to Sawyer. “But he never boasts about it, and we, the members of his company, are just beginning to find it out.”
“Well,” said the stage manager, “I’m glad he was able to handle Sam Hooker, but I wish he’d done the feller up so he couldn’t make any more trouble. He’ll try to get revenge, see if he don’t. He’ll make lots of trouble for Mr. Merriwell.”
“He better not,” said the Vermont youth, grimly. “The best thing he kin do is ter keep still and mind his business.”
“He won’t do that. Mr. Merriwell must be on the watch for him.”
“I hardly think Mr. Hooker is very dangerous,” smiled Frank. “I have noticed in almost every case that bullies are overrated. People get to thinking them very dangerous, and thus they are able to carry on a reign of terror till somebody takes the wind out of them. After that they seldom amount to much. Sometimes they degenerate so that boys can handle them. I am willing to prophesy that Mr. Hooker will turn out one of this kind. As soon as it is well known that somebody has thrashed him, he will become an object of ridicule, and no one will have cause to fear him.”