Then a
boy shot himself forward, battering-ram fashion, hurling Millard over
to the ground. The boy went with the fellow, landing on top of him.
And that boy was Eph Somers!
"Come on, Jack, if you want some of this!" offered Eph, generously.
Truth to tell, there was need of both the submarine boys, for Millard
now fought more fiendishly than before.
Millard was a powerful fellow, when aroused, but he had pitted against
him two of the doughtiest, gamest boys to be found along the Atlantic
coast. He was pretty well beaten up, in fact, by the time that Hal came
limply upon the scene.
"Want any help?" demanded Hal, in a still somewhat breathless voice.
"Nope!" answered Eph, sturdily. "Not unless you want exercise."
As Somers spoke he landed another blow, this against the "wind" at
Millard's belt-line. In the same instant Jack Benson managed to knot
his hands in the fellow's coat lapels, and to press the backs of his
hands against the wretch's throat.
"I sur--ug-g-gh!--er--render," gurgled the long-legged one, weakly.
"You'd better, unless you want to discover that we haven't yet started
in with rough handling," retorted Eph valiantly.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118