“What’s going on here, Bob?” he demanded.
“He tried it, just as you said he might!” replied the other, breathlessly.
“And you tripped him, was that it?”
“Listen to him grunt, will you?” said Bob, feeling a little compassion for the man, who had come down quite hard.
Frank still had matches left, and striking one of these he bent over to find out how seriously the prisoner was hurt.
“You’re lucky only to have a few bruises, and a nose bleed,” he declared, presently, after he had investigated. “Perhaps you’ll understand now that even if we are boys, my chum and I mean to hold on to you. Now, get up, and don’t you try that sort of game again, if you know what’s good for you.”
He helped the fellow get on his feet. There was an air of dejection about the man now, as though he had really come to the conclusion that the net had closed in around him, and he would have to “throw up his hands.”
“I’m done!” he muttered. “I was foolish to try it on. An’ ketched by a pair o’ kids, too!”
That last exclamation seemed to size up the whole bitterness of the situation. Had it been grown men who had effected his capture, evidently the fellow would not have felt so keenly about his misfortune; but he evidently wondered how he could ever hold up his head among his fellows again, after allowing a couple of boys to down him.
Several minutes later Frank called out: