GREAT as was the amazement of the boys to see Victor, his next words amazed them still more.
“Come down out of that, Clifton, and I’ll punch you good and plenty!” he howled.
Before Tom Clifton could gather his wits together and reply, Victor was speaking again.
“That was about the meanest and silliest trick I ever heard of!” he exclaimed, brandishing a small white fist in the air. “I’ve got it in for you, too, Blakelets; and ditto for you, Bob Somers.”
The group in the motor car exchanged glances of bewilderment. Then the chauffeur spoke up.
“How did you get here, Victor?” he asked.
This question seemed to increase Victor’s fiery attitude.
“Oh, don’t try to jolly me,” he screeched. “Put that innocent look off your face, Tom Clifton. And if you’re not too scared step down and get the first instalment of what’s coming to you!”
Tom Clifton, fairly aghast, flushed crimson. For him to be threatened in the presence of his chums by a boy of Victor’s size was more than his feelings could stand.
Words and actions came to his relief. Springing to the ground he seized Victor by the arm.
“What’s the matter, you silly little duffer?” he exclaimed, fiercely. But, like a flash, the thought came to him that, after all, it might be only a joke. “Oh, it’s all right, Victor,” he added, with forced calmness. “You can’t string me.”
“Or rope me into believing any taffy. I’ll show you how much joke there’s in it!”
Something happened.
Victor’s small fists began to move with truly remarkable speed. It was Tom Clifton’s ribs that stopped several snappy punches.
“Ouch! Quit it!” yelled Tom, jumping aside with undignified haste. “Stop—stop, I say!”
But whichever way he turned Victor was always dancing before him.
“You would make me miss that motor yacht trip, eh? Thought maybe I looked soft, eh? Well, here’s one for that!”
Two pairs of restraining hands suddenly gripped Victor Collins’ shoulders.
“No more of this, Vic,” commanded Bob, sternly. “We don’t want to start a rival show on this side of the street.”
“You’re making more noise than that fat barker over there!” added Charlie.
Tom Clifton, painfully conscious that he had made no effort to defend himself, and feeling the various assortment of punches which Victor had liberally bestowed upon him, suddenly decided that his reputation would suffer unless some decisive action was taken.
A good shaking, he thought, would be about the proper thing.
“I’ll tend to him myself, Bob. Leave the whole thing to me!” he cried.
While Victor squirmed and struggled in Bob Somers’ strong grasp, Charlie, bubbling over with mirth, had secured a firm hold on Tom Clifton’s arm.
“I guess the circus has been too much for somebody’s nerves,” he chuckled. “Better stop. There are about eighteen people looking over.”
“I don’t care!” stormed Tom.
“I do,” said Bob. “Let’s begin at the beginning, and come to the end fast. Victor seems peeved about something. Speak up, Vic: what’s the trouble?”
Realizing that the odds were too great to overcome, Victor simmered down.
“There’d be thirty-nine people looking at us if I had my way,” he said, sullenly. “This thing isn’t ended yet. Tall Indians are easy for me.”
“Then explanations ought to be easy,” laughed Bob.
Victor poured forth the story of his woes with a volubility that showed a strong grip on the English language, and, as he proceeded, the faces of the three completely changed expression. Bob and Charlie fairly roared with mirth, while Tom, backing up against the motor car, seemed almost too astonished to speak.
“We had our trip on the yacht,” cried Blake, between his peals of laughter.
“And Tom did motor it to Milwaukee,” supplemented Bob. “But ‘things are not always what they seem.’”
Briefly he explained the situation. His manner and tones were so convincing as to completely silence Victor Collins’ suspicions. The angry look slowly faded from his eyes. He stuck his hands into his overcoat pocket and whistled shrilly.
For once in his life Victor had learned a lesson.
The story of Tom’s brilliant deductions was, of course, too good to keep, so the “grind,” in spite of the tall boy’s frantic winks, gave all the details with a charming disregard for his feelings.
The sheepish expression which had rested on Victor’s face gave place to an enormous grin. He laughed quite as loudly as Bob and Charlie had done a few moments before.
“Well,” growled Tom, “can you blame me? Weren’t you all twisted up yourself? I went down to the wharf and saw——”
“So did Brandon and I; and all we saw was a mean-looking little fat man. He had the nerve to come up and begin talking. ‘No; not even the glitter of a cent,’ I told the beggar. Whew, wasn’t he hopping mad, though! You ought to have seen how he beat it.”
“A little fat man!” cried Tom, opening his eyes. “Why—why, he must have been the very one that told me about the boys going off on the yacht.”
“He did?” gasped Victor.
“Yes! Why, he wasn’t any beggar. It wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that he had sized up the situation and was going to tell you all about it. If you had only given him half a chance, Victor Collins, this——”
“What! Are you going to try and put the blame on me?” interrupted Victor, fiercely. “It wouldn’t have changed things at all—not a bit of it. I knew the whole crowd had skipped.”
“Say, fellows!” Bob Somers’ loud exclamation put an end to the wrangle. “No wonder that chap over there has a shape like Dave’s! It is Dave; and I knew it!”
“Why, of course it is!” snapped Victor.
“Great Scott!” cried Tom. “What—that fellow with the red coat and dinky little cap our Dave? Somebody fan me with a feather.”
“A rope’s end would suit your case better. Yes; Brandon has had to earn his own living for once.”
“Help!” murmured Charlie. “This has been almost too much for my weak intellect.”
“Now, Vic, do let us have an explanation!” cried Bob.
“You might have told us before, instead of raising such a howl about me,” broke in Tom.
Victor immediately launched forth into a vivid description of their experiences with the circus. He had a great deal to say, but the boys did not stand still while listening to it. Each was too anxious to see David Brandon in his new and astonishing rôle. They rapidly crossed the street, then made as straight a line as booths, stands and people would permit toward the entrance to the show.
All the sights and sounds peculiar to circuses were on every side. Their thoughts, however, were centered upon the boy with the red coat and tasseled cap who seemed to be talking as easily and naturally as though merely reciting in school.
In the midst of an impassioned argument Dave caught sight of his friends. He waved his arm, but that was all he could do in the way of greeting.
The end of Victor’s story fell on inattentive ears.
Tom felt his heart swell with pride—pride that Dave—their Dave—had again shown his versatility. Forgetting diffidence, he yelled:
“You didn’t know our automobile passed you on the road last night, eh, Dave?”
And a moment after these words were spoken he observed a small, thin man, who had been staring toward them, start forward. He also noticed, as the man approached, that he was scowling angrily.
“Say, boys,” he exclaimed, in a voice which the Ramblers had heard on the night before, “so it was your car that passed us on the road, eh? Well, I’ve got a word to say!”