“What you gettin’ at, Milleson?” broke in Alex Conyers.
“The boys has agreed,” explained Hank, “if you guys’ll go ’round by the pike and do your playin’ up by the dam, we’ll start nothin’.”
“Oh, they have, have they?” almost shouted Art. “Well, we’ve agreed that the whole bunch o’ you are a lot of bluffs. An’ the first loafer that gets in our path’ll get a swift smash in the jaw.”
[CHAPTER III]
THE BATTLE AT THE OLD SYCAMORE
As the defiant Trevor rallied his supporters and renewed the march across the bridge, there was no sign of retaliation on Hank’s face. The truth is that Hank, so far as his training permitted, had gone out of his way to do a good turn. It had been a failure. By the time Captain Trevor reached the end of the bridge, Hank had newly charged his pipe.
“Leastways,” he said to himself as he took the trail of the aeroplane-laden boys, “I done what I could. I’ll foller along now an’ see what kind o’ front the ginks can put up. An’ there’s a chanst ’at Carrots may need a little help ’fore he puts over that jumpin’ act he promised.”
Alex Conyers made a last appeal to Art to stick to the railroad until it crossed the pike. He tried to argue that this was the natural road to reach the place where they meant to start their program. If there was any one in the crowd that approved this change of plans he did not speak.
“Kids,” exclaimed Art pompously as he gave Connie a look of impatience—almost of defiance—and pointed straight up the river toward the old sycamore, “there lies our path.”