"That won't do, Sam," interrupted Oscar. "I want to talk about another matter. You have been hitting somebody with a ball-club!"
"No, I haven't—honor bright!" exclaimed Sam, with a great show of earnestness. "I never in my life hit anything with a ball-club except the ball and the home base. Why, man alive, I'd be afraid to do it!"
The boys had by this time reached Sam's home, which was but a few steps from Mr. Chamberlain's house.
As Sam was about to open the gate, Oscar shut it with a bang, and placed his back against it. After that, he put his books upon the top of the gate-post, and stood ready to resist any attempt his companion might make to pull him away from his position.
"Hallo, here!" cried Sam, with well-feigned astonishment. "What do you mean by that performance? Won't you let me go in?"
"No, sir, I won't—not unless you can pull me away from here, and I don't know whether you can do that or not!"
"I don't, either," replied Sam, backing off, and putting his hands in his pockets; "so I'll not try. But it is after nine o'clock, and I ought to be in bed and fast asleep. Some of the folks might come out here to look for me."
"I know they might, but they won't. Now, what have you been doing with that ball-club? I know you have been up to something, for your face got as red as a beet when Mr. Chamberlain spoke about it."
"I never saw so obstinate and persistent a fellow as you are when you once get your mind set on a thing," said Sam, leaning his elbow on the fence, and trying to look like a boy who was very badly persecuted. "I punched him with it, if you must know."
"There! I told you that you had been hitting somebody."