one side, hurl one of the half dozen snowballs he had under his arm.
Turning to see at whom they were aimed, Harry was amazed to behold a bent and aged man, hobbling along the sidewalk with the aid of a cane.
The snowball knocked the cane from the man’s hand and as it fell, the aged cripple tottered.
With an exclamation of disgust, Harry rushed up behind the bully and, seizing his arm, jerked it so that the remaining snowballs fell to the sidewalk.
The thought that anyone had seen his cowardly act in snowballing the aged man shamed the bully, but only for the moment.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, fiercely, whirling round to face the interrupter of what he considered his sport. And as he beheld the boy who had brought disgrace upon him in the morning, his face grew white with anger. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he went on. “Who do you think you are, anyhow? Just because you couldn’t steer the sled and went over the embankment is no reason why you should think you are so much!”
“You know I could steer that sled, and only went between the posts to keep from running into the girls,” returned Harry. “But that has nothing to do with the present matter. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to throw snowballs at an old man!”
“Oh, nobody cares about old Jed Brown!”
“Well, you can’t snowball him when I’m round!”
“Oh, is that so? Who’s going to stop me, I should like to know?”
“I am.”
“You?” And, after standing for several seconds, during which he looked Harry over from the top of his head to his feet, the bully burst into laughter. “So you, whom I could pick up and carry on one finger, are going to stop my doing anything I want to, eh? That is a good one. Why, kiddo, there is enough of me to make three of you and then some.”
The tone in which Pud spoke sent the color flushing to Harry’s face.
“Where I come from, it isn’t so much the size that counts as it is the heart!” he retorted. “And a fellow who will snowball an aged man can’t have very much real heart!”
An instant the bully glowered at Harry, then made a rush toward him.
“You’re getting altogether too fresh, young feller!” he hissed. “Because of you, I’m getting into all sorts of trouble – and I’m not going to stand it! If I want to snowball or do anything else to old Jed Brown, I’m going to, understand?” And as though to give more force to his words, Pud stooped down to pick up one of the missiles the new student had knocked from his arm.
Before he could reach it, however, Harry threw out his foot and crushed the snowball, then with more quick movements demolished the others.
Never had anyone so thwarted the Rivertown bully before and, for the moment, the big hulk of a boy stood gazing at his discomfiter in amazement. But only for a moment.
With a snarl, he shook his fist under Harry’s nose.
“You seem to be looking for trouble – and now you’re going to get it!”
Though the bully was much larger than Harry, the latter did not cower before him.
So engrossed had the boys been in their quarrel that they had failed to notice the approach of Principal Larmore. But he made his presence known just as Pud drew back his arm to strike.
“Snooks, go about your business!” he exclaimed. “I’m ashamed to think you should seek to pick a quarrel with the very boy who prevented your trick with the sled from having a very serious ending!”
As Harry had said, the bully was a coward at heart, and growling to himself, he slunk away.
CHAPTER III – SOCKER’S PLOT
With an amused smile, Mr. Larmore watched Pud as he slouched off up the street.
“Rather a strenuous introduction to Rivertown, you’re having, Watson,” he exclaimed, pleasantly. “Do you mind telling me what Snooks was saying to you?”
“Yes, sir; I do. It was only a personal matter.”
Fate, however, decreed that the principal should learn the cause of the quarrel he had interrupted.
First with surprise, then with thankfulness, Jed Brown had beheld Harry’s intervention – for the aged man, veteran though he was, and bearing the mark of his service for his country in a crippled leg, was considered fair sport by many of the young people in the village, and he was not accustomed to having anyone champion him.
Consequently, when he had seen the school bully threaten Harry, he had hobbled toward the pair as fast as he could, only to arrive just as Mr. Larmore had asked concerning the cause of the trouble.
“It was about me, Mr. Larmore, sir, the fuss was,” declared Jed. “Snooks was throwing snowballs at me and this young man stopped him.” Then, turning to Harry, he continued: “I’ll not forget your kindness, my boy. My name is Jed Brown.” And he extended a trembling hand.
“I’m Harry Watson,” smiled the boy, as he shook hands.
“You ain’t any relation to Amos Watson, of Lawrenceburgh, are you?” inquired the veteran, eagerly.
“He’s my father.”
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Jed, excitedly, again shaking the boy’s hand. “I’ve known Amos ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper, and there ain’t a finer man in this state, Mr. Larmore. Harry, whenever your skates need sharpening or you feel lonesome, just come around to see me; I live in a little one-story house down at the end of this street. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, I – ” then, chancing to glance down the street, the boy caught a glimpse of Pud as he poked his head cautiously from behind a tree-trunk, evidently with the purpose of finding out where the veteran was, and he changed his words, saying, “I guess I’ll walk along with you now. I have a knife that needs sharpening badly and I can leave it with you.”
The principal had also seen the bully’s action and he readily understood that Harry had made his knife the excuse for walking home with the old man, that he might protect him from any further attack by Snooks. Yet he feared the bully might waylay the boy and, as the other two set out, fell into step beside them, much to the embarrassment of both.
Arrived at Jed’s house which, though small, was spick and span in appearance, Harry gave him his knife, and after promising to call for it the next afternoon, continued on his way to the school with Mr. Larmore.
The detour which they had made to escort the veteran to his home caused them to be a trifle late in reaching the schoolhouse, and Harry was very glad that none of the scholars were outside to see him walking with the principal, for he feared it might give them the impression that he was a “teacher’s boy.”
But when he entered his classroom, he was the centre of all eyes.
“Grandstand play!” growled Elmer to Socket. “He’s got a swelled head, already, because he steered the sled over the bank. Anybody with any decency wouldn’t have waited until school was in session before he came in.”
“Never mind, we’ll
