But Bob did not give up. Satisfied that Ned did not have the pastry on his person, Bob set about a search for it. He walked down the aisle, looking in various seats, and poking his fingers in the pockets of those he knew, until he came to the end of the car.
In one of the seats sat a heavily-built youth, whose face was not of a prepossessing type. He had a sort of bulldog air about him, as though “spoiling for a fight,” and he had had little to say to the other recruits.
Bob, looking at the coat of this lad, as the garment was spread out over the unoccupied half of a seat, made a grab for something in one of the pockets, at the same time crying:
“Here they are! I knew you’d snitched ’em!” and he pulled out a bag, and drew therefrom a cruller.
The lad in the seat turned quickly from looking out the window, and, without a moment’s hesitation, sent his fist into Bob’s face.
“Maybe that’ll teach you to let Pug Kennedy’s things alone!” he growled.
[CHAPTER XIII]
IN THE CAMP
Bob, surprised as much by the suddenness of the other’s action as by the violence of the blow, staggered back, his hands going to his bruised face. There was a moment of silence, and then Jerry, who had seen the whole occurrence, cried out in ringing tones: