"
The girl shuddered even then, in the telling, but she continued:
"The wretch was twice as big as Dick Prescott. I thought Dick
was going to be killed. Twice the fellow broke loose, and started
to run, but what do you think Master Dick was up to?"
"What?" chorused the interested audience.
"Master Dick had his mind set on subduing the robber and holding
him for the police. So he tried to stop the wretch from getting
away. At last, however, the fellow hurled Dick backward, so that
he fell. When he got up he was lame. You all may have noticed
that Mr. Prescott limped a bit yesterday?"
"Yes; he _did_," confirmed Frank Thompson.
"And his hand was hurt, too---I know that," insisted Laura. "For
he escorted me to Miss Bond's, and then home. When we got there,
I asked my father, who is a doctor, to take Dick into the office.
Father said, afterwards, that Dick's right wrist was sprained,
and his ankle wrenched a bit, too. He said Dick would be doing
well to have the full use of his wrist in a week. Then the police
came, when my father telephoned for them, and the police didn't
want anything said for a while."
"So you, a fourteen-year-old freshie, are going about at night
trying to waylay footpads, are you?" demanded Thompson, resting
a friendly hand on Dick's shoulder. "But why did you keep so
close-mouthed, afterwards?" demanded the first classman.
"Well, for one thing, I guess I was a bit ashamed," confessed
Dick, reddening.
"Ashamed of rushing to beauty's aid?" demanded Frank, laughingly.
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