Dick had moved away from the grounds but a short distance when
his attention was attracted to the strange movements of two
rough-looking individuals who were hurrying off with a third man
between them.

"I don't want to go, I tell you," the middle man muttered; "I
don't want more to drink."

"That's all right, Mr. Castor," said one of the other men glibly.
"Just have one more glass, that's a good fellow."

"I won't take it, so there!" cried the man called Castor. "I
know when I've had enough."

"You've got to come along with us," put in the third man
savagely. "You owe us some money."

"I don't owe you a cent, Fusty."

"Yes, you do -- and I'm bound to have it. Hold him, Mike, till I
go through him."

Of a sudden there was a struggle, and the man called Castor found
himself helpless, while the fellow called Fusty began to go
through his pockets with great rapidity.

The scene alarmed Dick, and he wondered what he had best do.
Then he made up his mind to go to Castor's assistance, and ran
forward.