"No, but we know you did it and nobody else."
"You can't prove it," answered Bob, and now his face showed a sign of relief. He had been afraid that there had been a witness of his evil-doing.
"Perhaps we can," said Randy. "Bob Bangs, I think you are the meanest boy in Riverport!" he continued, with spirit.
"I don't care what you think, Randy Thompson. Who are you, anyway? The son of a poor carpenter. Why, you haven't got a decent suit of clothing to your back!"
"For shame, Bob!" broke in Jack. "Randy is a good fellow, even if he is poor."
"Well, if you think he is so good you can go with him. But I don't want to associate with such a low fellow," went on the big youth, as he started to brush himself off with a silk handkerchief.
"So I am a low fellow, am I?" said Randy, in a steady voice, and coming up close to Bob, who promptly began to back away.
"Ye—as, you—you are," stammered the rich youth.
"I've a good mind to knock you down for saying it, Bob Bangs. I am not as low as you."
"Humph!"