"Well, that is what they say."

"Humph! Carl, they are bound to get us into trouble."

"Of course. They haven't got over last summer's trouble yet. I suppose
they will make it as hot for us as they can."

"Well, let us stick together and maybe we can face them down," was Ham
Spink's comment, and then he lit a cigarette and offered one to his
crony, and both fell to smoking.

That very evening both youths had to "face the music," and in a manner
which did not please them in the least.

Coming home just before supper Mr. Spink, found a note awaiting him.
It was from Andrew Felps and ran, in part, as follows:

"I have a complaint to make against your son Hamilton. To-day while I
was on my way through the streets of our town I was assailed in the
fashion of a ruffian by your son, who threw snowballs at me, knocking
me down and ruining my silk hat and a rare volume of history I was
carrying. I demand that your son apologize to me for his actions or I
shall make a complaint to the authorities."

"Hamilton, what does this mean?" demanded Mr. Spink, after perusing
the communication several times.

"I don't know," answered the undutiful offspring brazenly.