Mr. Allen frowned.
"That boy is the pest of the town. There will never be any peace here until his father sends him away to some military school, where he can be taken in hand by a stern martinet, and made to mind. It's the only hope for him. And did he succeed in his miserable aim, my boy?" he asked, solicitously.
"There was a wreck, all right, but it happened the shoe was on the other foot, and the poor old Flier is only fit for the woodpile now. It's just as well, for Lef would never use her again, after being overtaken so handsomely by Lanky's new racer. But we hardly had a bit of trouble, and went on our way, leaving Lef and Bill Klemm breathing out all sorts of threats," chuckled Frank.
"The little scamp," said Mrs. Allen, indignantly. "Either one of you might have been seriously injured. Husband, I insist that you see his father, and enter complaint against him. This has gone far enough, and should be stopped!"
Frank looked quickly toward his father.
"I hope you won't think it necessary, because among boys, you know, it is considered a point of honor to take care of their own battles. I'm going to settle with Lef soon for all I owe him," he said, gravely.
"And did you get that hurt on your left hand when the upset occurred?" continued Helen, showing that she had been observing what he had sought to conceal.
Frank turned a little red, and looked confused.
"I see that I might as well confess the whole thing, for there'll be no rest from her questions. No, that cut came later, while we were on the way back from Clifford," he said.
"That sounds as though you had another accident. Was that terrible boy to blame for that, too?" demanded the solicitous sister.