“I don’t think I could talk to Ada to-day,” said Geraldine, “and as for that Davenport boy, I hope he’ll go home before Jerry sees him. Jerry wanted to punch his head before, for being horrid to Gretel. If they should meet to-day I don’t know what would happen.”
Molly and Kitty departed, leaving Geraldine to finish her packing, with the assistance of Mrs. Chester’s maid. They found Ada on the piazza, but Archie Davenport was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s your cousin?” Molly asked, mindful of Geraldine’s fears.
“Gone off somewhere to look for the boys, I think,” Ada answered indifferently. “Oh, girls, isn’t it terrible about Gretel? What do you suppose has become of her?”
Before either Molly or Kitty could answer, they were all startled by the sound of shouting, and little Frank Chester came running round the corner from the stable, flushed and breathless from haste and excitement.
“Oh, come, come quick!” he implored. “Jerry’s killing Archie Davenport. He’s got him down on the ground, and he’s rolling him over and over and pummelling him like everything.”
With an exclamation of horror, the three girls sprang to their feet, and at the same instant Stephen Cranston’s “Ford” came dashing up to the front door, and that young gentleman himself sprang out.
“Any news?” he demanded eagerly, but nobody answered him. Molly seized his arm.
“Come, Steve,” she cried, “don’t wait to ask any questions. Jerry is beating Archie Davenport, and we’ve got to stop them before Archie is killed.”
Archie was not killed, but he presented a very forlorn-looking appearance when the party arrived at the scene of action. Covered with dust, one eye closed and blood pouring from his nose, he sat ignominiously on the ground, while Jerry—his own nose bleeding profusely—towered above him, his eyes blazing with wrath.