"I was thinking of that myself," Dick admitted.
"You must be tired, anyway," Dave hinted. "You whipped Miller all right, but he was a tiring brute, and I'll wager that you're both sore and exhausted."
"I'll plead guilty to a little bit of both," Dick Prescott assented, laughing at the recollection of Miller at the time when that brute's second eye was closed.
Yet it was more than half an hour after their return to camp when slumber finally began to assert its claim upon the Gridley boys. For Greg and Harry, as soon as they had heard a few words as to the evening's adventure, insisted upon hearing all of it before they would let Dick turn in.
"I'll bet they're sore in Miller's place tonight," chuckled Greg, just before be extinguished the second lantern.
Certainly anger did reign in Miller's place for the rest of that evening.
Miller had been brought to consciousness, after considerable effort. He was even able to be up and about his place, but his swollen features looked like a caricature of a face.
"The schoolboy that was able to do that to you, Miller, must have been eight feet high and as wide as a gate," remarked one of the red-nosed patrons of the place.
"Shut up!" was Miller's gracious response.
There were other drinking places in Fenton, and to these the news of the big fellow's drubbing quickly spread.