“I know mine won’t,” declared the bully. But instead of his words making the impression he had intended, they drew a burst of laughter from Paul and Jerry.
“What do you find so funny about that?” demanded Pud, angrily.
“That your father should forbid your associating with anyone,” returned Paul.
“Say, do you think I ain’t as good as the Martins or the Posts or any people in Rivertown?”
“I’m not saying anything about that. It merely struck me that a fellow who was only saved from serious trouble by the kindheartedness of an old man whom he had tormented in every way possible ought not to make too many comments about other people,” exclaimed Paul, coolly, but uttering each word with deliberation.
Instantly the boys realized that Paul had referred to the incident of the fire which burned Jed Brown’s home, and they awaited the effect upon the bully with eagerness. But it was not what they expected.
For a moment, Pud looked into the eyes of the boy who had taken up the cudgels for his absent chum; then lowered his own, growled something that none of his auditors could understand, and skated away.
“Now you go, too, Craven,” advised Jerry. “If I were you, I’d hire Pud to go round with me—or else stop talking about Harry Watson.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the rich student.
“Didn’t I make myself plain enough? I said for you to stop talking about Harry Watson.”