Ap hesitated.
“Four against one,” he muttered sarcastically. “You’re a plucky lot, you are.”
“Throw down that whip and any one of us will tackle you,” cried Fred hotly, his fiery temper getting the better of him.
But just then a diversion came from a new quarter.
A boy who was just about equal to Ap in age and weight, who had a lot of freckles, a snub nose, a jolly Irish face and a crop of red hair that rivaled Fred’s own, pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered.
“It’s Pat Moriarty,” cried Betty in relief.
“Hello, Bobby! Hello, Fred!” called out the newcomer cheerily. “What’s the rumpus here?”
“It’s this Ap Plunkit,” explained Bobby. “I hit his horse with a snowball by accident.”
“And the big coward’s brought his whip over to get even,” volunteered Fred.
“To git even is it,” said Pat, as his eyes fell on the bully, who was beginning to move backward. “Well, I’ll give him the chanst.”