"Quit, you little ass!" put in Roger. "Don't you know how hard the Captain can kick?"
The flabby youth, realizing that his audacious appeal had failed, got quickly out of the range of Dick's boot. But he paused long enough to get in a parting shot—a stinger, too.
"After all," he said, "it's putrid to be bullied for praising the contents of a magazine, when all you really fancied was the paper and print!"
Both laughed ruefully at this when Mawdster had vanished.
"That's a backhander for us, straight between the eyes," said Roger.
"Rather!" Dick agreed. "The oily maggot! I only wish I'd taken your tip, Roger, and driven my uninjured foot into his fat carcase!"
CHAPTER VII
The Squirms in the Forest
On a dull Saturday afternoon Robin Arkness and his Merry Men, rigged out for football, passed through the school-yard.
Their voices were raised eagerly as they discussed, in a friendly way, who should play on Robin's side and who should form a team under the captaincy of Little John. Almost all they said was, therefore, audible to Osbody and his Squirms, who, from the windows of the dining-hall, contemptuously watched them depart.