"
"I bet it was those Jenkins boys!" declared Jack. "Don't you remember,
Rob, how we made them stop badgering little Tommy Casey in the
school-yard the other day, and how mad they were about it?"
"Yes, and they swore they'd be even with us," answered Rob.
The Jenkins boys were the children of a drunken father, a slatternly
mother. Brought up in a comfortless, poverty-stricken home, without
any religious teaching or influences, what wonder that they became
addicted to most of the petty vices,--that they acquired an unenviable
reputation for mischief, mendacity, and thieving in a small way?
Jack's inference could hardly be called a rash judgment. A glimpse of
a derisive, grinning face among the neighboring bushes confirmed his
suspicions. Without a word he made a dash toward the thicket. His
companions understood, however, and were not slow to follow his
example. There was a crackling of the brambles, succeeded by a
stampede. Jack, with all his alertness, had not been quite quick
enough. With a jeering whoop, two shabby figures escaped into the road.
"The question is, where's the boat?" said Rob, as the party paused for
breath, finding that pursuit was useless.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93