"Git back dere!" ordered Bulldog, making a grab for Dick as the boy passed him.
But before Dick could reach the door it was burst open from outside, and, tumbling into the room, came Jimmy and Sam, all out of breath from running. Bulldog started back and doubled up his fists. Jimmy made straight for Dick.
"Are you all right? Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously.
"Not—not much. I'm all right."
"He hit you!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he saw a red mark on Dick's face.
"Yes, twice."
"The brute! I'll make him pay for that!"
Jimmy was mad enough now to tackle Bulldog single-handed. But there was no need for this. Sam Schmidt's fighting blood was up. He regarded Jimmy and Dick as his best friends, and the thought that one of them had suffered at the hands of Bulldog made him angry. Sam was a big lad—taller, stronger, and heavier than the bully—but he had no training in fist-fights.
Still he did not hesitate. Straight at Bulldog he leaped, clasping him in his big arms before the bully could strike out, and an instant later the two went down, Bulldog underneath, while Sam rained blow after blow on him.
"So! Dot's de vay I do him," he explained between the thumps. "Next times you vos took somebodies yer own sizes, maybe so. Eh? Dere, dot's fer goot luck," and, with a parting blow, he allowed Bulldog to get up. The bully lost no time in beating a hasty retreat.