Herc dropped a cake that he was eating and made for the road. But he was too late. Before he reached there, a crowd of Japs, buzzing like angry hornets, had closed in about him. They were all jabbering at once and some of them began to lay hands on Herc.
“Belay there!” shouted the red-headed youth. “What in the mischief is biting you fellows?”
An angry shout went up.
“They say you insult Dai Butsu,” said the ’rickshaw man who had come running up.
“But who?” demanded Herc. “I only joined the old gentleman at his lunch. He didn’t seem to have a good appetite and I thought I’d butt in on old But-what’s-his-name.”
The ’rickshaw man hastily translated this speech to the angry Japs. But instead of allaying their anger, the Dreadnought Boy’s explanation appeared only to anger them the more.
“I’m afraid we’ve let ourselves in for trouble,” exclaimed Ned in a worried tone; “this is a serious matter with these fellows.”
“Dai Butsu, the guard of the tomb of Tyemitsu the third Shogun of Japan,” volunteered the guide; “him very holy.”
“I wish I had an eight-inch gun here,” cried Herc as the crowd drew closer about the boys. “I guess that’s as good as any old show-gun or blow-gun or whatever it is.”
Suddenly the crowd closed in with an angry roar. Taken by surprise, the boys were forced backward. Herc felt his feet tripped from under him, and fighting desperately, he was borne to the ground by sheer press of numbers.