"Stow that!" growled the sailor. "I've a knife at the end of my lanyard, but there's nothing about this that calls for cold steel. Drop down on his feet, Carl, and that will hold him steady while I go through his clothes."
While the Dutch boy sat on the hoodlum's feet, the sailor was able to push his hands into the thief's pockets. The roll was found and appropriated, and both boys leaped up.
The hoodlum floundered erect.
"I'll git even fer dis!" he scowled. "Yous can't run in dat kind of a play on Nifty Perkins an' make it stick."
"Bear away!" cried the sailor angrily. "Maybe that'll help you," and he gave the villainous scoundrel a kick that sent him two yards on his way toward the street.
The hoodlum turned to shake his fist, and mutter a threat, then started off at a run. When he reached the street, the rest of his pals joined him. For a time they hung about the alley entrance, apparently trying to make up their minds whether it would be wise to attack the sailor and Carl in force.
"Donnervetter!" cried Carl. "Dot looks like a shance for some scrappings. I don'd vas looking for drouple, aber you bed somet'ing for nodding dot I don'd dodge any. Come along mit yourseluf, Verral! Led's gif dem fellers Hail Golumby."
"Cut away!" shouted the young sailor. "The swabs that ran foul of me bolted as soon as you crossed that other chap's hawse. I'd like to square my score with them."
But the hoodlums did not wait. Carl and the sailor looked altogether too war-like. By the time the two boys reached the end of the alley, the street rowdies had taken to their heels.