CHAPTER XVII
THE HERO
When Will Dawson spoke his voice was hoarse. “Let’s go—we’ve got to go and look in,” he said.
Westy just gulped. He said, “Wait a second—listen.”
“It’s awful,” Ralph Warner said. “We—we can’t just stand here. What shall we do?”
Pee-wee was as white as snow. He just stood there gulping.
“We’ll—we’ll have—to—tell his—his mother,” one of the fellows said.
Just then, good night, you’ll hardly believe it when I tell you. Out came one of those old boards just as if some one was kicking it, and there was Warde Hollister dragging out the poor limp black man by the neck. The man’s arms were flopping about this way and that and Warde threw him down flat on the ground. Then he made his hands into two cups and slapped them together.