“Oh, let go, will you!” growled Ned, crossly, turning and giving his foremost tormentor a sharp push.
“Hi, Mike, he hit your brother!” delightedly rose a chorus of voices.
“Sock it to him, Patsy! Don’t you stand it!” advised others.
“Aw, Patsy! To let a feller like him hit yer!” jeered still others.
Thus egged on, Patsy, who was not even up to Ned’s shoulders, doubled his scrawny, dirty fists, and scowled fiercely.
“What did you hit me fer? I wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” he demanded.
“I didn’t hit you. You were too!” replied Ned, seeking to go on. But too late. He was hemmed about, as through magic, by a circle which cut him off from Hal and from the procession.
The parade with the blue cape snapper went its way, unaware that it had lost its frayed tip, for Hal, too, was having his troubles.
“G’wan!” sneered Ned’s mite of a foe, hunching himself forward, brave in his knowledge that the majority was with him.