"Who are you talking to?" demanded the proprietor, his face white with rage.
"You," seemingly came the answer from the dude.
The proprietor could stand no more. He made a rush. He did not care at that instant if the dudes were the scions of the governor of the state. He grasped the chap who it appeared had given him the insolence by the loose part of his trousers and the collar of his coat, and he walked him French fashion toward the door. The youth made a vigorous protest. His friends also joined in, when the bartender rushed from behind the counter and seized another of the "chappies," and a guest who was a vigorous fellow seized the third one; and then commenced a grand march toward the street door, and each one of the dudes was thrown into the street and a kick was administered to each as he was thrust out. Poor dudes! they had not been guilty of the particular sin for which they suffered, but they deserved all they got, just the same, for they had made nuisances of themselves.
Jack and Ike left the place. They were delighted with the rebuke they had administered, but the fun was not over. The three dudes were standing at the corner of the street talking over their grievances. They espied Ike and Jack and one of them said:
"There are the fellows who drew us into this trouble."
"Let's hammer them."
Neither Ike nor Jack were formidable-looking chaps, and the dudes sailed for them. Well, a lively scene followed. The two ventriloquists were both lithe, active athletes, and the way they polished off the "chappies" was a sight to behold, and they were having a heap of fun when suddenly both were seized by the collars of their coats and found themselves in the grasp of two stalwart policemen.
Neither lad was scared. They did not mind their arrest on such a trivial charge at all, and they were led off. Ike asked by signal:
"What shall we do?"
"What do you think?" came the answer.