look ugly and dangerous.

He got his balance at last, and extended his finger at our hero.

"Bart Stirling," he maundered, "you've made an enemy for life. Look out
for me! You're a marked man after this."

"What am I marked with," inquired Bart quickly--"burnt cork?"

"Hey! What?" blurted out Lem, and Bart saw that the shot had struck the
target. Wacker looked sickly, and muttered something to himself. Then he
took himself off.

Bart's worries were pleasantly broken in upon by the arrival of his
sister Bertha. She brought him a generous lunch, the first food Bart had
tasted that day, and his appetite welcomed it in a wholesome way.

He put in the time planning what he would do if he was lucky enough to
be retained in his father's position, and what he might do in case
someone else was appointed.

At half-past two Bart loaded the two ice cream freezers on the cart and
started for the picnic grounds.

Juvenile Pleasantville had somewhat subsided for a time in the fervor of
its patriotism. There was a lull in the popping and banging, nearly
everybody in town being due at the time-honored celebration in the
picnic grove.

When Bart reached the grove, someone was making an address, and he