“So you made me out a dipsomaniac?” observed Bob.
“What else was there to do? Didn’t you bring it on yourself?”
Dan now stopped, not far from a clump of bushes. Down the road stood a stalled motor-car vaguely distinguishable in the dusk. Its occupant, or occupants had apparently gone to telephone for help.
“You bet I made you out a ‘dippy,’” said Dickie with much satisfaction.
A white light shone from Bob’s eyes. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Good night,” he said curtly and turned to go.
But at that instant the commodore emitted a low whistle and two men sprang out of the bushes. At the same moment the trio precipitated themselves, also, on Bob. It was a large load. He “landed” one or two on somebody and got one or two in return himself. Dickie rather forgot himself in the excitement of the moment and was unnecessarily forceful, considering the odds. But Bob was big and husky and for a little while he kept them all busy. His football training came in handy. Numbers, however, finally prevailed, and though he heaved and struggled, he had to go down. Then they sat on him, distributing themselves variously over his anatomy.
“Thought I was giving you that charming little chat, just for the pleasure of your company, did you?” panted the commodore, from somewhere about the upper part of Bob? “Why, I was just leading you here.”
“And he came like a lamb!” said Clarence, holding an arm.
“Or a big boob!” from Dickie, who had charge of a leg.