But half a dozen boys uttered a whoop and skated toward him.

Hen wobbled on his skates an instant, then turned, intent on escape.
"Oh, say, fellows," called Dick, "don't be all the time picking on poor old Hen." "We'll just wash his face," shouted back one of the pursuers.
Hen knew they meant it, and he was traveling down the ice, now, under full steam.
"Come on, fellows," called Dick, to Greg and to Tom Reade.

"We don't want to see Hen abused." "Why does he get so fresh, then ?" demanded Greg, but he started, as did Tom.

Dick & Co.

were all fleet skaters.