“What? What's gone, Joe?” They all crowded into the small space, and swarmed all over the room.
“My racket,” yelled Joel wrathfully. “Jenk has got it; he better give it up. Quick now.” He pushed up the sleeves of his tennis shirt, and squared off, glaring at them all, but making the best of his way over toward Jenk.
That individual, when he saw him coming, thought it better to get behind some intervening boys. Everybody huddled against everybody else, and it was impossible to get at the truth.
“See here now, Mother Fox will be after us all if you don't hush up,” called one boy. “I guess she's coming,” which had the desired effect. All the voices died down except Joel's.
“I don't care,” said Joel wrathfully. “I wish she would come. Jenk has got my racket. He saw me with it before I ran to math; and now it's gone.” All eyes turned to Jenkins.
“Is that so?” A half-dozen hands pushed him into the centre of the group. “Then you've got to give him fits, Pepper.”
“I'm going to,” announced Joel, pushing up his sleeves higher yet, “until he tells where it is. Come on, Jenk.” He tossed his head like a young lion, and squared off.
“I haven't your old racket,” declared Jenk, a white line beginning to come around his mouth. It wasn't pleasant to see his reckoning quite so near.
“Then you know where it is,” declared Joel.
“And give it to the beggar,” cried several of the boys, with whom Jenkins was by no means a favorite.