Janice was rather belated that morning in starting for Middletown in the Kremlin car. Marty jumped on the running board with his school books in a strap, to ride down the hill to the corner of School Street.
Just as they came in sight of Polktown's handsome brick schoolhouse, there was Nelson Haley briskly approaching.
He had given up his key to the committee on Saturday night; but there were books and private papers in his desk that he desired to remove before his successor arrived. The front door was locked and he had to wait for Benny Thread to hobble up from the basement to open it.
This delay brought every woman on the block to her front windows. Some peeped from behind the blinds; some boldly came out on their "stoops" to eye the unfortunate schoolmaster askance. A group of boys were gathered on the corner within plain earshot of the schoolmaster. As Janice turned the car carefully into School Street Sim Howell, one of these young loungers, uttered a loud bray.
"What d'ye s'pose he's after now?" he then demanded of nobody in particular, but loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. "S'pose he thinks there's any more money in there ter steal?"
"Stop, Janice!" yelped Marty. "I knew I'd got ter do it. That feller's been spoilin' for it for a week! Lemme down, I say!"
He did not wait for his cousin to obey his command. Before she could stop the car he took a flying leap from the running-board of the automobile. His books flew one way, his cap another; and with a wild shout of rage, Marty fell upon Sim Howell!
CHAPTER XVII
THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN
Janice ran the car on for half a block before she stopped. She looked back. She had never approved of fisticuffs—and Marty was prone to such disgraceful activities. Nevertheless, when she saw Sim Howell's blood-besmeared countenance, his wide-open mouth, his clumsy fists pawing the air almost blindly, something primal—instinctive—made her heart leap in her bosom.