Dick was developing rapidly under the training of Frank, who worked systematically with the lad, strengthening his weak points and improving the strong ones. Nor had Merry failed to give Dick instructions in the manly art of self-defense. Each day, when possible, he had spent at least thirty minutes sparring with the lad, and the progress made by his pupil had amazed Merry.
“Let’s gently sift into this scrap,” urged Ready. “The wrinkled aborigine must be defended.”
Merry grasped his arm.
“Wait,” he advised. “Let’s see how Dick can handle himself.”
Of course, the hooting urchins had gathered a crowd, but somehow it happened that no officer appeared to be in sight, therefore the hoodlums were not dispersed.
The bully gave a gasp of surprise and anger as the clean-faced lad with the flashing black eyes thrust him backward. He staggered and nearly fell down, but recovered quickly and gave Dick a fierce look.
“W’ot?” he howled. “W’ot’s dat yer say, kid? W’y, I can break youse in two widout half-tryin’! Git outer me way, ur I’ll biff yer, an’ ye’ll never know w’ot happened!”
He started forward, but Dick immediately assumed a position of readiness, retorting:
“Come on, you dirty duffer! Just walk right up and biff me!”