As he closed in he struck out at Bob several times, but the youth ducked and dodged and not a blow took effect.
Then the Irishman tried new tactics. He pretended to run, and, when Bob followed, he turned swiftly and caught the youth by the waist.
“Now I have yez!” cried Grogan. “How do ye loike that, me b’y?”
He threw Bob on the ground, and kicked him heavily in the side. The youth attempted to scramble up, but the Irishman kicked him again, and then Bob was glad enough to lie still.
“’Tis the same b’y we met at Fitt’s hotel,” muttered Grogan, as he looked closer at Bob. “Phat brought yez here?” he demanded.
“That’s my business,” returned Bob, with a gasp. Besides bruising him severely, the kicks had taken all the wind out of him.
“Is it?” said Grogan, sarcastically. “Mebbe Oi’ll make it moine, too. Lie where yez are, onless yez would rather be kicked to death.”
“What do you propose to do with me?” demanded Bob.
“Yez will see when the toime comes.”
“You have no right to keep me here.”