“Um! Oh yes, the Taylors did their share—their share,” admitted Captain Hawkesbury. “Well, we shall see! We shall see!” and muttering something under his breath, which Tom was not able to catch, the old fighter strode along.
“Not a very cheerful sort of man,” thought Tom, as he went down to get a boat. He thoroughly enjoyed the row on the river, and began to feel more like himself. He rowed until the lengthening shadows warned him it was time to return to his home, and a little later he was walking along the river bank.
Around a bend, near the place where he had met Captain Hawkesbury some time before, Tom heard voices, two of which at least, were familiar to him. The possessors of the voices were talking and laughing rather hilariously.
Suddenly footsteps could be heard, indicating that several persons were running along the hard-packed path, and a moment later Tom saw Clarence, Ike and a number of their cronies coming on the run.
“Looks as though they were having a race,” mused Tom.
“Get out the way! Let us pass! Don’t block the path!” called Clarence. “One side, Taylor, we’re trying to see who’s the best-footed.”
The path was narrow at this point. On one side was the river and on the other a low, swampy place. Tom had hardly room to get to one side.
“They have nerve,” he mused. “Why couldn’t they wait until they had room to race. I can’t get out of their way.”
The other lads gave him no chance. On they came swinging toward him, and, an instant later, as Clarence tried to pass Tom, the rich youth slid down the bank toward the river.
“Look out!” Tom cried.