So when the marshal of
Willow Creek saw Bud Perkins putting the finishing touches of a good
trouncing on a strange boy, and also saw Bill Pennington's boy, and
Henry Sears's boy, and Mrs. Carpenter's boy, and old man Jones's boy
dancing around in high glee at the performance, he quietly gathered in
the boys he knew, and let the stranger go.
[Illustration: _The other 'wranglers ... dropped out for heavy
repair_.]
Now no boy likes to be marched down the main street of his town with
the callous finger of the marshal under his shirt-band. The spectacle
operates distinctly against the peace and dignity of Boyville for
months thereafter. For passing youths who forget there is a morrow
jibe at the culprits and thus plant the seeds of dissensions which
bloom in fights. It was a sweaty, red-faced crew that the marshal
dumped into Pennington's grocery with, "Here, Bill, I found your boy
and these young demons fightin' down 't the circus ground, and I took
'em in charge. You 'tend to 'em, will you?"
Mr. Pennington's glance at his son showed that Piggy was unharmed. A
swift survey of the others gave each, save Bud, a bill of health. But
when Mr. Pennington's eyes fell on Bud, he leaned on a show-case and
laughed till he shook all over; for Bud, with a rimless hat upon a
towselled head, with a face scratched till it looked like a railroad
map, with a torn shirt that exposed a dirty shoulder and a freckled
back, with trousers so badly shattered that two hands could hardly
hold them together,--as Mr.
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