Andy Lasher was known as the town bully, and many a time had he taken
delight in giving our four friends more or less trouble; Jerry and he had
always been at loggerheads, and could look back to half a dozen occasions
in the past where the contest for supremacy had brought them to the point
of battle.
Each time Andy was supposed to have gotten the better of the conflict,
though his friends thought he paid dearly for his victory; but Jerry
seemed never to know when he was whipped, and was just as ready to try
conclusions with the other as before.
"Some fine day I'll know how to outwit the big brute, and then I mean to
cure him of his bullying ways," he was wont to say cheerfully, as he
festooned his face with strips of adhesive plaster, and tried to grin
through the pain.
"What d'ye mean upsetting me that way, Jerry Wallington? Think just
because your dad's a big railroad man you can knock poor fellers around
any old way? I guess I've got some rights. You might have killed me,
tumbling that pile of boxes down, with me inside. You ought to be made to
pay fur it, that's what," grumbled the fellow, scowling vindictively, and
yet not daring to assume the offensive while the four chums were present;
for he had never tried conclusions with Frank, and was suspicious of the
new boy in Centerville--for the Langdons had lived there about a year,
Frank's father having purchased the bank of which he was now president.
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