THE MODELS
I had been taken completely off my guard, but by instinct I tried to ward off my assailants. My effort was a useless one. In a trice I found myself on the ground, surrounded by half a dozen of the fastest young men to be found in Darbyville.
Prominent among them was Duncan Woodward, and I rightfully guessed that it was he who had organized the attack.
"Take it easy, Strong," exclaimed a fellow named Moran, "unless you want to be all broke up."
"What do you mean by treating me in this way?" I cried indignantly.
"You'll find out soon enough," said Phillips, another of the young men. "Come, stop your struggling."
"I'll do nothing of the kind. You have no right to molest me."
"Pooh!" sniffed Duncan. "The Models have a right to do anything."
"The Models?" I queried, in perplexity. "Who are they?"
"The Models are a band of young gentlemen organized for the purpose of social enjoyment and to teach cads lessons that they are not likely to forget," replied Moran.