But they ran along in the press of boisterous lads.
Len Spencer, grinning hard, rushed along at the head of the juvenile mob.
"Boys, you'd better reconsider!" shouted the young reporter.
"Don't write yourselves down as louts.

The man on the clubhouse steps, on account of just what he said, proved himself one of the sages of the ages.

Prescott, in telling you just what he said, has performed a public service, if only you fellows were bright enough to comprehend." "Get out of our way, Spencer!" ordered Spoff Henderson.

"As sure as guns we're going to duck Dick Prescott in the public fountain." "If you won't listen to reason, then," roared Len, using his long legs to put him well in advance of the juvenile mob, "then I'll use enchantment to spoil your foolish work.

You shall not duck Prescott! Hi, pi, yi, animus, hocus pocus! That enchantment will foil you!" Having reached the fountain, Len drew aside dramatically.
"In with him!" shouted the youngsters.
Then they halted in sheer amazement.