“It ain’t so. I’m Joe Small.”
“Your name is Jack, and you live in the yellow house over yonder hill.”
“Don’t talk to him,” put in the biggest of the trio, who had been offered five cents to help “polish off” the young book agent. “Give him what he deserves and let him go.”
“He’ll tell on me,” whispered Jack.
“No, he won’t. Just help make him a prisoner and leave the rest to Ollie and me.”
Watching their chance, the three boys crowded in on Frank, and overturned both him and his wheel. Then, despite the fact that he hit out vigorously, they sat down on him. Jack tried to kick him, but our hero pulled him down by the leg, and gave him a severe blow in the nose that drew blood.
“Oh! oh! my nose!” roared the would-be actor, and clapped a hand to that organ.
Frank had been hit several times, but at last he managed to throw off his assailants, and then he struck out in a lively fashion. Yet, with their clubs, they were at an advantage, and he was speedily getting the worst of the encounter when a man appeared in the distance, carrying a basket of eggs in his hand. It was Samuel Windham.
“Hi! hi! What does this mean?” cried the young farmer, in amazement.
“Help me, please!” gasped Frank, who was almost out of wind from his exertions.