“No.”
“Then take that!”
The man made a rush at Ralph, apparently meaning to throw him off the dock on which they were still standing. But before he could reach him something happened; or rather, two things happened at once.
Something twining and snake-like in its grip encircled the man’s legs; almost at the same time, deprived of his footing, he sat down violently and with a sad loss of dignity.
It was Harry Ware’s doing. Seeing that trouble was impending, and knowing Ralph well enough to realize that his chum would not yield to rough coercion, he had bethought himself of the only weapon they had. This was a heavy weight attached to a long line which was sometimes used as an anchor when they went fishing in the tender. To hasten to the boat and bring back the weight and the attached line was the work of little more than a moment.
The boy returned with his improvised weapon just in time to behold the man’s onslaught. He swung the weight and then suddenly released it. The heavy iron shot out and in a jiffy it had swung the rope round and round the man’s legs, effectually depriving him of the power to move, without injuring him in the slightest, except in his self-respect.
The heavy iron shot out and in a jiffy it had swung the rope round and round the man’s legs.
“You infernal young demons!” yelled the man furiously, as he sat helpless on the dock.
The force of his fall had shaken him, and this had not helped to improve his temper.