McCarney “curled up” promptly, while Jim with clenched fists kept guard over him.
“Come,” cried Joe, as he stood over his fallen antagonist. “Stand up so that I can knock you down again. I’m just getting warmed up.”
“I’ve had enough,” growled Reddy, spitting out a tooth. “But you can bet McRae will hear of this.”
“Tell him and welcome,” returned Joe, as he started to resume his dressing. “But pick yourself up now and get out of this clubhouse. If you’re here when I get my shoes on, I’ll kick you out.”
The precious pair slouched out of the house, their eyes burning with rage and malice.
“They’re bad medicine, Joe,” remarked Jim, as he watched them depart. “Be on the watch, for they’ll try to get even for this. But, gee, it warmed my heart to see the trimming you gave Hupft! Those smashes you handed him were beauties.”
Jim’s prophecy was quickly realized, for that night, as the chums were hurrying for the train that was to carry them to New York, a jagged piece of railroad iron came whizzing past Joe’s head, missing him by no more than a couple of inches. They looked about, but could see nobody, and as their time was limited they had no chance to hunt for their unknown assailant. But in their hearts they had no doubt as to the source of the attack.
“One more debt I owe to Hupft and McCarney,” commented Joe, as they settled into their train seats. “The account is getting pretty long, but heaven help them when the time comes for settling!”