Part 11 (2/2)

”Which one?”

A grimy, tear streaked hand pointed to Silvey. The medic turned to him.

”Come here, boy,” he said majestically.

Instead, Silvey beat a hasty retreat to the railroad tracks. There, from the summit of the embankment, he heaped abuse on the inoffensive figure with the little black case.

”Smarty, smarty, smart-e-e-e!” he shrilled. ”Johnny made a monkey of you. Johnny made a monkey of you!”

The ex-members of the armies snickered. Still the shouts continued. The doctor flushed a deep scarlet. To retreat in the face of the taunts seemed cowardly--to remain was rapidly becoming insufferable.

”Tell your friend he'd better keep quiet,” he said in futile anger.

Silvey interpreted the gesture which accompanied the ultimatum.

”Come on and make me quit,” he chanted. ”Johnny made a monkey of you and I can, to-o-o!”

The physician grinned sheepishly and took a few swift strides after the dancing figure. Silvey waited until he was almost at the wire railroad fence, and retreated to one of the back yards on the opposite side of the embankment. As the doctor retraced his steps to the sidewalk, the boys gazed thoughtfully at the depleted supply of ammunition. John turned to Skinny Mosher.

”Take that kid away before he gets us into more trouble. He's always spoiling our fun, anyway. What'll we do now.”

”Let's go over to the street and get chased,” Perry Alford suggested, as Skinny started towards home with his sniffling, reluctant brother.

They apportioned the last of the cuc.u.mbers and crossed the tracks in single file, pausing now to balance fantastically on the s.h.i.+ning steel rails, and now to skip flat, smooth pebbles against the black, weathered girders which supported the block signals. As they reached the home precincts, a still-panting figure joined them.

”Has he gone?”

John nodded. ”He was only bluffing. Might have known that. We're going over to the flats.”

”The flats” was the largest building on their home street. Built on the corner, in the shape of a huge, four-storied, red brick ”C,” it was really composed of a number of apartments with separate entrances with a common, cement-paved inside court on which the back porches fronted. The bas.e.m.e.nts were given over to boiler rooms, laundry tubs, and storerooms, linked by long, twisting, badly lighted corridors which formed excellent hiding places for the boys in time of pursuit.

The gang gathered noisily just off the corner and waited for victims. A gray-haired, poorly clad woman shuffled past. Sid raised his arm. Silvey whispered a protest. ”That's old lady Allen. Has the rheumatism. Leave her alone.”

John broke into a gleeful chortle. ”Look what's coming, fellows.”

The cause of his exultation was a callow youth of sixteen, whose father had met with a sudden wave of prosperity and was now trying to sell his rather modest home that he might move to a more exclusive neighborhood.

The son was inclined to patronize old acquaintances and affected a mult.i.tude of expensive tailored clothes and a light cane. John eyed the gray, immaculately pressed suit appreciatively and let fly.

The boy wheeled in surprise, then stooped to pick up his hat.

”You fellows had better cut that out,” he bl.u.s.tered, as he straightened the soft, felt brim.

”Who's going to make us?” Silvey jeered, as his cuc.u.mber hit the neat lapel.

”Just do that again. I'll show you.”

A volley of the juicy missiles greeted his words. He charged upon the boys, who fled to the haven of the darkest of the corridors and took refuge in an empty outer storeroom. There they barricaded themselves and awaited his coming.

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