“I think so. If we haven’t I can find some easily enough. Is it much of a cut?”
“I don’t know, but it feels a yard long. A fellow bathed it in cold water and it hurt like the dickens. I got sort of faint and Mooney asked if he couldn’t send for some one to help me home and I told him to send for you. I guess he was afraid I’d want the ambulance and get the cops on the scene! How did they find you? Were you in the room? Any one hear about me?”
Bert explained as they went along State street between buildings gradually changing from shops to residences. Then: “You haven’t told me yet who hit you, Chick.”
“Les Devore. He got nasty because I wouldn’t play with him. I just went there to look on. I only had twenty cents and I told him so, but he said it didn’t matter, that I owed him a lot already and a couple of dollars more wouldn’t matter. I said he’d get his money all right, but I didn’t intend to owe him any more. Then he got talking for the other fellows to hear, razzing me about my dad being a banker and not having any money, and a lot of stuff like that. Making believe he was joking, but mad just the same. Well, I called him down finally and he came where I was sitting and put his hand against my chin and knocked my head back against a rack. Pretending he was just in fun, you know. It hurt quite a bit and I jumped up and hit him pretty hard. He went back against the table and I went after him. He was scared then and started to back around the other end, and I told him to keep his mouth shut and went back to sit down again. And just then some one yelled ‘Look out, kid!’ and I turned my head and got his cue right here. It didn’t hit me square, you see; sort of glanced off; but it put me out for the count, I guess. When I came around I was down there where you found me and some one was sopping water all over me.”
“What became of Devore?” asked Bert.
“I don’t know. I suppose he beat it. I’m going to find him to-morrow, though,” added Chick grimly.
“Not to-morrow,” said Bert. “You won’t be feeling very scrappy in the morning, Charles. Just you leave— Oh! He-hello, Mr. Cade!”
“I thought that was you, Hollins. And Burton, too, eh?”
“Good evening, sir,” muttered Chick.
They had reached the corner of State and Academy streets. Neither of them had given thought to the fact that the coach had his quarters in the old white house there, although if they had they would not have seriously considered the possibility of such an adventure. Mr. Cade was leaning over the gate, a pipe in his mouth, and since the nearest street light was well distant they hadn’t seen him until he had spoken. Now Chick tugged at Bert’s arm, but the coach spoke again.