"He really thinks he's going to get away with it!" cried Frank.
"Well, he's got another think coming," said George. "What will we do to him, fellows?"
"He ought to be hung by the neck until he's dead," declared Sammy, whose eyes were still watering and throat smarting.
"Killing's too good for him," put in Frank.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," declared George. "We'll give him a dose of his own medicine. Each of you grab one of his arms and I'll get the pepper and the mustard."
In a flash they had pounced upon Bob and held him powerless. Then George took a part of Bob's sandwich and fairly plastered it with mustard and added a liberal share of pepper.
Despite Bob's struggles, his mouth was forced open and the food thrust in. George held his hand over his mouth, and though the stuff was like so much fire Bob had to gulp it down or choke. He chose to do the first, and then when his chums released him he made a wild dash for the water cooler, where he drank half a dozen glasses of water before he came slowly and sheepishly back to his seat.
The other boys were grinning from ear to ear, and Bob, after moping a minute or two, was forced to laugh, too. He was sportsmanlike enough to know that he deserved what he had got and to take it in good part. He knew that those who danced must pay the fiddler.
They all attacked the remaining sandwiches and had cleared up every crumb before they reached the junction where they were to transfer to the flyer.
They were in ample time. In fact, they had to wait ten minutes before the long through train came thundering into the little depot. To the boys the splendid train seemed almost endless, with its smoking car and day cars and big Pullman coaches.