Dave drove back to Main Street, letting Dick off at his corner.
Down the side street a few doors and into the bookshop he hurried.
"Back again?" was Mr. Prescott's greeting. "What was the matter—-the volume not satisfactory!"
"No such party at the address," his son answered. "But I think
I can explain why the order was 'phoned in."
Dick then proceeded to narrate what had happened. His father listened with growing anger.
"What a low, worthless trick that was to play," he cried. "Dick, if you'll stay here and attend the store I'll step around to Mr. Ripley's office and speak to him about it. Then I'll go over to the bank and see Bert's father."
"Don't, dad; please don't," begged the boy.
"It seems to me that such action is highly necessary," maintained
Mr. Prescott.
"I hope you won't do it, dad. The best way to treat boys' rows is to let them settle among themselves. If you interfere in this matter, dad, I shall get a name among other boys for running to my father for protection. That will turn the laugh on me all over town. I'd much rather fight my own battles and take an occasional pounding."
"Well, perhaps you're right about it," admitted his father thoughtfully. "At all events, I'm glad to see that your disposition is to take care of your own troubles. I won't interfere, though I am certain that Mr. Ripley would like to know something about this affair."
"I already do know something about it," gravely announced a voice behind them. There stood Lawyer Ripley, who had dropped in to buy a magazine.