“What are you fellows doing?” cried Bobby, as he came within earshot of the intruders. “Leave those apples alone.”
The strangers looked up in some surprise at the interruption and then conferred together hastily.
“What have you got to say about it?” blurted out the one who seemed to be the leader of the party. “They ain’t your apples, are they?”
“No, but they belong to the head of our school,” replied Bobby. “And he’d have you arrested for stealing them if he knew about it.”
“Well, what he don’t know ain’t a-goin’ to hurt him,” sneered the fellow. “An’ if they ain’t your apples you ain’t got no license to interfere. You git along now an’ beat it while the goin’s good.”
“Give him a clip in the jaw, Hen, an’ take some of the freshness out of him,” growled one of the fruit thieves.
“You can’t bluff us with any of that kind of talk,” declared Bobby stoutly. “I’ve got the number of that car, and you fellows will be tracked down and arrested if you don’t get away from here quick.”
An ugly look came into the bully’s eyes as he clenched his fist.
And while, with his heart beating fast but his courage unshaken, Bobby waited for the expected rush, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the earlier volumes of this series, to tell who Bobby and his chums are.
Bobby Blake was now about thirteen years old, and had been born in a little town called Clinton. He was the only child of a business man of that place, whose affairs frequently called him away from home.