“Leesburgh?”
“Yes, Leesburgh, at Sampson’s Hotel, and at the Arcade moving-picture and vaudeville show,” and as he uttered the words Nat fairly glared into the face of our hero.
“I haven’t been near Leesburgh for several months—not since a crowd of us went there to a football game.”
“Humph! You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe it or not, it is true.”
“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Dave Porter! I know you were at Leesburgh last week Wednesday, you and Roger Morr. And I know you went to Sampson’s Hotel and registered in my name and then cut up like a rowdy there, in the pool-room, and got thrown out, and I know you and Roger Morr went to the Arcade and made a fuss there, and got thrown out again, but not until you had given my name and the name of Gus Plum. Gus may forgive you for it, and think it only a joke. But I’ll not do it, I can tell you that! You have got to write a letter to the owner of that hotel and to the theater manager and explain things, and you and Roger Morr have got to beg my pardon. And if you don’t, as I said before, I’ll tell my father and get him to have you arrested.” And now Nat was so excited he moved from one foot to the other and shook his fist in the air.
To the bully’s surprise Dave did not get excited. On the contrary, our hero’s face showed something that was akin to a faint smile. Ben saw it and wondered at it.
“Say, you needn’t laugh at me!” howled Nat, noting the look. “Before I get through with you, you’ll find it no laughing matter.”
“I am not laughing at you, Nat.”
“Well, do you admit that what I’ve said is true?”