“What your hurry, Cutey?” drawled Garrity. “Afraid Poppa Scoutmaster will mark you late?”
Micky tried to jerk away, but the muscular fingers dug into his arm with painful force. A deep flush flamed into his face and his eyes narrowed.
“Let go,” he demanded curtly.
Garrity grinned irritatingly.
“Ain’t he got pretty pink cheeks?” he drawled insultingly. “They’re smooth an’ soft just like a girl’s.”
With a sudden motion he brought up his free hand, callous and none too clean, with blackened, broken nails, and rubbed it roughly over one side of McBride’s face.
Shrimp McGowan tittered. Conners’ eyes widened with a look of silent protest. A second later there was a loud smack as Micky’s open palm struck Garrity’s cheek with a force that left a momentary imprint of his fingers on the tanned and freckled skin. The next instant the scout was sprawling in the gutter.
“You fresh Ike!” snarled Garrity furiously. “I’ll tan the hide off you for that. Get up!”
Dizzily McBride tried to scramble to his feet. He had struck the curb with considerable force and his head whirled. But he had not the least intention of giving in to the bully without a fight.
He had scarcely risen to his knees when Garrity knocked him down again. Micky rolled over a couple of times and managed to gain his feet without interference. He was conscious that Conners had caught the red-haired fellow by an elbow and was protesting in a shrill, uneven voice, while McGowan stared uneasily up and down the street. But all he actually saw was the sneering face of his opponent as he staggered forward, clenched fists raised in a position he thought was scientific.