“Oh, I guess they’ve suffered enough,” said Frank. “No use rubbing it in.”
“If they had smashed your boat they would have told the story all over Bayport. I’m certainly glad it turned out the way it did,” said Callie.
“Drat that Chet,” muttered Frank, after the girls had gone on down the street. “Why can’t he keep quiet? He’ll be making me out a hero if he keeps up. I didn’t want anything said about that affair.”
“Well, only two girls know about it now,” returned Joe, comfortingly.
“Only two girls!” snorted Frank. “He might as well have published it in the newspaper.”
Nevertheless he was inwardly pleased by Callie’s evident concern over his narrow escape and by her admiration of the way he had acquitted himself in the emergency.
That afternoon, immediately after lunch, the Hardy boys set out for the handsome Jefferson home on the Shore Road. The place was not far away, and as the snow was too deep to permit of using their motorcycles, the boys went on foot. Before they had come within sight of the place they met a chum, Biff Hooper, who frequently accompanied the Hardy boys on their adventures.
They found Biff, who was pugilistically inclined, dancing about in the snow, making wild dashes and lunges at an imaginary sparring partner. He did not see Frank and Joe at first and when they came up to him he had evidently just put the finishing touches to the invisible antagonist, for he was breathing heavily and, as he looked down into the snow, he was counting! “Seven—eight—nine—ten—Out!”
“Hurrah for the new champion!” shouted Joe. “Did you knock him out, Biff?”
Biff swung around quickly and looked very foolish.