“How do you know that any of us did?” replied Bobby in Yankee fashion, answering a question by asking one.
“I know that some of you did, because you butted in on me before,” replied Hicksley.
“When was that?” asked Fred aggravatingly.
“You know well enough,” growled Hicksley, who was not any too anxious to recall his bully-ragging of the old soldier.
“Oh, yes, I remember,” put in Mouser, as though he had just thought of it. “You remember, fellows, how Hicksley reached out his foot and tried to trip the old man up.”
“I didn’t,” cried Hicksley untruthfully. “He fell over it by accident.”
“And I suppose it was an accident that you kept at him with the feather so that he couldn’t get any sleep?” retorted Fred.
“That’s neither here nor there,” snarled Hicksley, dodging the matter. “What I want to know is which one of you sent this valentine?”
“What are you going to do if you find out?” asked Bobby innocently.
“I’m going to give him a trimming that he’ll remember,” growled Hicksley.