out his arm.

"Wot yer doin' here?" he snarled. "Why don't yer stay where yer b'long?"

"We 're just going home," Fred said mildly.

Brick looked at Joe. "Wot yer got under yer arm?" he demanded.

Joe contained himself and took no heed of him. "Come on," he said to Fred
and Charley, at the same time starting to brush past the gang-leader.

But with a quick blow Brick Simpson struck him in the face, and with
equal quickness snatched the bundle of kites from under his arm.

Joe uttered an inarticulate cry of rage, and, all caution flung to the
winds, sprang at his assailant.

This was evidently a surprise to the gang-leader, who expected least of
all to be attacked in his own territory. He retreated backward, still
clutching the kites, and divided between desire to fight and desire to
retain his capture.

The latter desire dominated him, and he turned and fled swiftly down
the narrow side-street into a labyrinth of streets and alleys. Joe knew
that he was plunging into the wilderness of the enemy's country, but
his sense of both property and pride had been offended, and he took up
the pursuit hot-footed.

Fred and Charley followed after, though he outdistanced them, and behind
came the three other members of the gang, emitting a whistling call while