Larry Barlow's ambition

“Let me alone!” said Larry, quietly but firmly. He was in no humor for arguing with the bully, nor was he in any physical condition to fight.

“I’ll let you alone after I am done with you.”

“Who is it, Lank?” questioned one of the city boys who was with the bully.

“Larry Barlow, the good-for-nothing I told you about,” answered Possy.

“The chap who attacked you with a club?”

“Yes; I reckon I’ve got a chance to get square now,” muttered Lank Possy.

The street was rather a quiet one, and only two old men and a few children were in sight.

“I told you to let me alone,” went on Larry, steadily. “If you molest me it will be the worse for you.”

“Will it?” sneered Possy. “Take that, you scamp!”

He struck at Larry’s head, but our hero managed to dodge the blow.

“Come on, fellows; let’s give him a good whipping!” cried the bully, appealing to his friends. Then he struck at Larry again, hitting him a severe blow on his burnt arm.

“You coward!” gasped our hero. “If I wasn’t just out of the hospital I’d whip you fairly.”

“That’s a nice fairy story,” sneered Possy. “There’s another for you!”

Again he struck at Larry, but now our hero was on his guard, and warded off the blow. Then he began to walk away as rapidly as possible.

He knew there was an engine house right around the corner, and was certain he would find friends there.

Possy thought he was thoroughly frightened, not believing the hospital story, and made after him, and so did the others.

The corner was gained and the three pounced upon Larry. But before they could do anything a newsboy standing near got into the mix-up and hauled Possy back by the tail of his coat.

“You leave Larry Barlow alone,” came in the shrill voice of little Willie Morrison. “Don’t you dare hit him or I’ll call a policeman.”

“Good for you, Willie,” answered Larry, joyfully. Then he turned and whispered something into the newsboy’s ear.

“All right, I will,” answered Willie, and he ran off as fast as his short legs could go.

By this time Larry was surrounded by Lank Possy and his two friends.

He did his best to defend himself, but he was still weak, and his walk toward home had almost played him out.

It was a mean advantage his enemies were taking of him, but for this Lank Possy did not care. He would have half killed our hero had he not feared the consequences.

But Larry was not to be downed without doing something to defend himself.

Gathering what little remained of his strength, he hit Possy in the nose, causing the blood to flow from that member.

But then the three roughs—for they can be called nothing more—got our hero down flat on the pavement.

They were beating him most shamefully, when Willie Morrison returned, all out of breath, and accompanied by two strapping firemen.

One of the firemen knew Larry and knew of our hero’s bravery and his term at the hospital, and the way he sailed into Possy and his cronies was astonishing.

Seeing this, the second fireman also took a hand, and inside of three minutes the bully and his friends were more than beaten.

“Don’t—don’t kill me!” shrieked Possy, when one eye was closed and his mouth was bleeding, as well as his nose. “Let up!”

“You scoundrels!” cried the fireman who knew Larry. “Clear out before we give you some more!”

“I’ll git square!” shrieked Possy. And then as the fireman made another dash at him he ran for his life.

The cronies of the bully were also suffering from bleeding noses and loosened teeth, and they lost no time in hastening after their fallen champion.

“You ran us into a nice mess, Lank!” growled one.

“That’s so,” growled the other. “What kind of a friend, are you, anyway?”

“Oh, go to grass!” howled Possy in return. “If you don’t like it you can do the other thing.”

“Don’t you get gay with me,” was the answer. “I wasn’t taking you around for the fun of getting my nose punched.”

“Nor me to get my teeth knocked most down my throat,” put in the other.

“How did I know those firemen would come down on us?” demanded Possy. “I thought we had him all to ourselves.”

“You ought to have known what you was doing.”

“See here, Sam Bowers, if you don’t like it you can go off on your own hook.”

“That’s what I’m going to do.”

“So am I,” put in the second New Yorker.

Two minutes later they had left Lank Possy to himself. The bully swore frightfully; then hurried off to a nearby cafe.

“I had an accident,” he explained. “Fell on the curb and hit my mouth and nose,” and he had a waiter show him to a washbasin, where he fixed himself up. Then he called for a glass of liquor with which to brace himself up.

“I’ll get square with Larry Barlow!” he muttered to himself. “I’ll get square—see if I don’t!”

In the resort were several men, some drinking at the bar and others playing cards at a table in a corner.

Among the number was Check Sluggers, the man who had been a tool to Martin Pollox for so many years.

As our readers know, Pollox was rather gentlemanly outwardly, moving in high social circles, and he depended entirely upon Check Sluggers to do his dirty and disagreeable work for him.

Since Larry had called at Pollox’s mansion, Mary Vern’s guardian and Sluggers had met half a dozen times, and had tried to devise some means of getting our hero out of their way without arousing suspicion, especially the suspicion of Mary.

The oil dock fire had complicated matters somewhat, and Check Sluggers was waiting till Larry should come out of the hospital ere a new move should be made in the game against our hero.

As Lank Possy dropped into a seat at a vacant table, Check Sluggers strolled up to him.

“Had an accident, eh?” he remarked.

“Yes,” answered Lank, shortly.

“Too bad. I fell once on the curb myself, and it gave me a nasty cut on the lip.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll get over it.”

The two conversed for some time and had a drink together, and Lank Possy finally mentioned that he was from Ferryville.

“Is that so?” queried Check Sluggers, with interest. “Know a fellow from there named Larry Barlow?”

“Yes, I do,” and Possy started. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“N—no, I’ve only heard of him. Know him well?”

“Yes, I do,” growled Possy. “I know him too well. He and I are enemies. If he’s your friend you had better not talk of him to me.”

Of course Check Sluggers was more interested than ever, and, being as slick as he was unprincipled, he soon had Possy’s story in detail.

“That was rough on you,” he said, sympathetically. “Hang it all, I’d like to help you get square,” he added.

“Would you?” and Lank Possy’s face brightened.

“Yes, I would—and I will. Just you let me think out a plan,” added Check Sluggers.

And then he did think out a plan, but not for Possy’s benefit. He thought to get Larry out of the way, and lay the blame of the disappearance upon the bully’s shoulders, thus shielding himself and Martin Pollox.