"Get those papers!" yelled Brady.
"I'll git that Dutch kid if it costs me my life!" whooped Pete.
Brady rushed after Pete, and there was a chase across the marshy meadow toward the road.
Carl was chunky of build and not nearly so good in a sprint as was Matt. Matt was in the lead on the rush from the balloon house, but, anticipating that Carl might have further trouble with Pete, he slackened his pace.
It was well that he did so. Pete was steadily gaining on Carl and would undoubtedly have overtaken him had Matt not executed a quick move with an empty salt barrel that lay in the line of flight.
At the right moment, Matt rolled the salt barrel in front of the enraged Pete. Pete's shins slammed against it, then he dropped on it and plowed up the mucky soil with the top of his head.
So far as the set-to was concerned, it was settled right there, Brady being so far in the rear that the boys were able to clear the fence and get into the automobile before he could come anywhere near them. As a matter of fact, Brady gave up the fight as soon as he had witnessed Pete's mishap with the barrel.
As the two chums glided away toward the more thickly settled part of South Chicago, they could look back and see Brady assisting the disgruntled Pete to an erect position. The barrel had been smashed, and Brady was scraping the mud off Pete with one of the staves.
"How you like dot, hey?" gloried Carl, standing up in the automobile and shaking his fist. "You vill know pedder der next time dan to make some foolishness mit Modor Matt und his bard. Yah, yah, yah!"