“Oh! Ouch!” screamed Noddy, who though he was strong and a bully was also a great coward in pain. “My shoulder’s broken, too. I’ll sue you for this, Ned Slade, after I get well, and I’ll lick you, too.”
“Oh, dry up!” muttered Ned, who was painfully limping toward his wheel.
When Noddy came to move he discovered that he was not as badly hurt as he had foolishly imagined. He got on his feet, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and found that he could walk all right. But he scowled darkly when he saw Bob grinning at him.
“You’re more scared than hurt,” said Bob.
“Look here, you impudent little snob!” burst out Noddy, limping over toward the boy who was still smiling. “Don’t give me any of your lip. I won’t stand it. I’ll knock your head off!”
“Better not try,” advised Bob quietly, the smile leaving his face. “Two can play at that game.”
“Yes, and so can we all of us!” broke in Jerry, who was something of a boxer. “We’re sorry for what happened, Nixon,” he went on, “but you needn’t rub it in.”
“Oh, shut-up!” cried Noddy, turning away, and picking up his wheel. “I’ll get even with you for this, though,” he muttered.
“Two of my spokes are broken,” he went on, after an examination of his bicycle. “You’ll have to pay for them, Ned Slade.”
“So are two of mine, and my handle bars are bent,” retorted Ned. “I guess we’ll call it even, Noddy. I won’t charge you for straightening the handles,” and he laughed in spite of the pain of his bruises.