Walking calmly past the prostrate figure, Johnny stepped out into the moonlight and took a sweeping survey of the surrounding territory. Nothing unusual was to be seen. The giant had vanished.
“Never-the-less there was a giant!” he said slowly. “Pant’s big, hooked-nose giant, I’ll be bound. But why, I wonder, was he man-handling that other fellow?”
The reason was not far to seek, at least Johnny felt that way about it, for the moment he laid eyes on the frightened stranger, who by this time had risen from the floor, he recognized in him, the sneering Naperville sophomore, the very one who had come near to causing Kentucky’s downfall.
Every boy in the room had recognized this fellow, the coach as well, but—Johnny thought this a trifle strange—not one of them all gave any indication that they knew him. For that matter, however, the boys seemed willing enough to let Coach Dizney do the talking.
As for the stranger, Johnny thought he had never seen anyone so thoroughly frightened. Eyes wild, nostrils widely distended, lips far apart, he stood there panting.
“Well, son?” the coach’s tone was disarming.
“He—he would have killed me,” the boy spoke with difficulty.
“Who?”
“The big, black giant.”
“Giant?” The coach looked at him strangely. “We have no giants in Hillcrest. Must have escaped from a circus.”