Something smote him on the face with the same result.
A piece of pie had been hurled at Sam, but the first piece had missed him, Dan catching the full force of it. The second shot had been delivered with better aim, and Sam that time got the pie that was intended for him.
“Who did that?” demanded Dan, wiping the sticky stuff from his eyes and glaring about.
About that time Sam had succeeded in freeing his own eyes. His face was pale and the patches of freckles stood out in bold relief.
“Yes; he threw the pie,” answered a chorus of voices.
“Never mind; you need not tell me about it, fellows. I’ll take care of Mr. Flink. I’ll hand him back as good as he sent, and it will not be pie either.”
Sam, whom Dan had pulled back into his chair, started to rise again.
“Look out! Here comes an officer,” warned a boy sitting on the other side of him.
Sam sank back into his chair and began mopping the remnants of the pie from his face, while Dan was doing the same for himself.