The ruffian’s eyes narrowed. He cunningly changed his tactics. “Say, kid, what did she look like—her that belongs to the bag?”
“All kind o’ brown clothes and pretty and dreadful white in the face. Maybe you’ve seen her?” wistfully.
“Well, what do yer know!” Davy felt his arm clutched tight. “Believe me, pard, that young lady’s a pertic’ler friend o’ mine! And if you’ll jest remove yerself from her trunk there, I’ll be dee-lighted to fetch it to her. Here, I’ll stand fer her tip,” trying to slip a coin into Davy’s hand.
“No, sir!” Davy set his jaw fast and plumped down his little body more protectingly than ever over his charge.
“Aw, yer won’t, won’t yer? We’ll see,” sneered the ruffian, casting a furtive glance to right and left.
In an agony Davy followed his glance, but no help was in sight—save an approaching trolley, and that probably wouldn’t stop. Oh, if only some one would come, or if he were only bigger, or had a magic sling like that David of old! But no, all unarmed he must meet his giant Goliath. Was ever a true scout up against heavier odds? Then, in his dire need, he seemed to hear Cousin Fred’s voice again, “A scout has the courage ... to stand up for the right ... against the threats of enemies ... and defeat does not down him.”
Davy braced himself for whatever might come—and it came promptly. A sharp wrench, a vicious punch, and the suitcase was in the hands of the enemy, and Davy flattened on the ground, well-nigh winded. It was a black moment for the brave little scout. Everything lost—and what would she think? And he had tried so hard!
“Aw, yer won’t, won’t yer? We’ll see,” sneered the ruffian
Then—Ah, the trusty snow shovel, Davy’s ally that hadn’t been reckoned on. Trip-ity-rip! Over it went the enemy with an ugly growl, sprawling into the gutter!