“He tripped me up once, dat’s all.”
“Is dat all?” exclaimed the other, his bulldog face getting purple.
“Jest w’en I had der little cuss, too,” said Squinty.
“W’y didn’t yer tell me dat at fust?” harshly demanded the other.
“Well, it’s der kid I’m der sorest over. He’s der one I wanted ter see done up.”
“It’s der odder mug I’m der sorest over. Tripped yer, did he? Well, mebbe he’ll find dere are odders can do some trippin’.”
The fellow in uniform was Bud McCann, brother to Jim McCann, who was familiarly known as Squinty Jim. Bud had started out as a pugilist, but had drifted into baseball, having proved himself a handy utility man for either the infield or outfield. His old fighting-spirit was aroused by the falsehood told him by Jim, which he readily swallowed, as he could not fancy it possible that Squinty had been whipped fairly without assistance by Dick Merriwell.
Squinty was not particularly anxious to get at Frank, but he did desire vengeance on Dick. He saw, however, that the only way to get Bud thoroughly aroused was to tell him a falsehood concerning the encounter.
“Wot’ll yer do, Bud?” he asked.