"Rush him fellows!" bawled Toby Ross. "Don't let him escape!"
Indeed, there was no time or chance for getting away. Dick Prescott was rushed, caught and pinned.
"What'll we do with him?" rose the chorus.
"To the fountain! Duck him!"
With a cheer the boys started, carrying Dick along on the shoulders of a few tightly-wedged boys.
Dick's chums made no effort to rescue him. Indeed, perhaps they felt that he deserved what was right ahead of him. But they ran along in the press of boisterous lads.
Len Spencer, grinning hard, rushed along at the head of the juvenile mob.
"Boys, you'd better reconsider!" shouted the young reporter. "Don't write yourselves down as louts. The man on the clubhouse steps, on account of just what he said, proved himself one of the sages of the ages. Prescott, in telling you just what he said, has performed a public service, if only you fellows were bright enough to comprehend."
"Get out of our way, Spencer!" ordered Spoff Henderson. "As sure as guns we're going to duck Dick Prescott in the public fountain."
"If you won't listen to reason, then," roared Len, using his long legs to put him well in advance of the juvenile mob, "then I'll use enchantment to spoil your foolish work. You shall not duck Prescott! Hi, pi, yi, animus, hocus pocus! That enchantment will foil you!"