“Just stay there until you cool off a bit,” advised Ned, “and until you learn not to hit out so with your fists. If you want to fight, we’ll find some one your size and weight in our crowd to take you on. How about it, Jerry?”
“I’ll agree if he will,” was the answer, and the tall lad grinned cheerfully.
“Who said I wanted to fight?” growled Pug Kennedy, as he saw several unfriendly looks cast in his direction, and noted the athletic build of Jerry Hopkins.
“Well, you sort of acted that way,” commented Ned, who did not intend to give the bully the slightest advantage. “What did you want to hit Bob for?” and he nodded at his chum, who had finally succeeded in stopping his nose hemorrhage.
“What’d he want to go and shove his hands into my pocket for, without asking me if he could?” demanded Pug, and it must be admitted that he really had right on his side. Bob had acted hastily, and perhaps indiscreetly, considering that he did not know the lad who had had the encounter with him.
“I was only looking for my crullers,” Bob explained. “Some one took ’em for a joke, and when I saw the bag in your pocket I thought you had ’em.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” growled Pug, who, in truth, looked something like the animal from which had come the nickname.
“You didn’t give me a chance,” said Bob. “If you wanted to fight why didn’t you say so?”
“Well, you mind your own business, and let me alone!” growled the belligerent one. “And you’d better let me up if you know what’s good for you!” he added fiercely to Ned.
“Oh, I guess I know my business,” was the calm rejoinder. “At the same time I’m willing to let you up provided you promise to keep your hands off my friend. If you want to fight, as I said, that can be arranged.”