“You young rascals, how dare you run over my wheat?”
The boys stopped, and Frank saw what, in his excitement, he had not hitherto heeded, that he was now running in a field of wheat, which reached to his knee.
“I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “I was so excited than I really did not see where I was going.”
“Not see!” shouted the angry farmer. “You young rascal, I'll break every bone in your body,” and he flourished a heavy stick as he spoke.
Charlie Goodall began to cry.
“I have no right to trespass on your wheat, sir,” Frank said firmly; “but you have no right to strike us. My name is Frank Hargate. I belong to Dr. Parker's school at Deal, and if you will say what damage I have caused, I will pay for it.”
“You shall pay for it now,” shouted the farmer, as he advanced with uplifted stick.
Frank slipped three or four of his clay bullets into his mouth.
“Leave us alone or it will be worse for you,” he said as he raised the blowgun to his mouth.
The farmer advanced, and Frank sent a bullet with all his force, and with so true an aim that he struck the farmer on the knuckles. It was a sharp blow, and the farmer, with a cry of pain and surprise, dropped the stick.