Tim ran out an impudent tongue, but said nothing. The committeeman’s eyes under his high silk hat glared at Bobby.
“We were just playing football,” stammered Bobby hastily.
“Football!” cried Mr. Hornbeck, giving each of them a tremendous shake. “Football! You young imps! Don’t tell me you don’t know of the rule that primary-grade boys are to stay off the field during football practice. If I ever catch you around here again I’ll have you up 104 before Mr. Carter. He’ll teach you to remember.”
Still retaining his grip on their collars, Mr. Hornbeck marched them across the lot to the street.
“Now scoot,” he ordered.
They needed no second command. Tim fled up the street and Bobby ran down, each as fast as he could go.
“My stars and stripes!” ejaculated Sam Layton, meeting Bobby as the boy came running in the driveway, “is that what they do to you at school? Learning must be rather hard work.”
No wonder Sam was surprised. Bobby’s coat was torn, his blouse grimed with mud. A great bruise was on one cheek, and his cap was crushed and dirty. His hands and face looked as though he had been rolling in the mud, which, as we know, he had.
“I had a fight,” explained Bobby coolly. “I guess I do look a little dirty.”
“Come on out to the garage and I’ll brush you off. No sense in scaring your mother stiff,” said Sam. “Who won the fight?” 105