When they
recovered their feet they used them--used them to good advantage--in
getting away, while chappie went for number one again, but the fellow
begged---actually begged--and our hero picking up his coat flung it at
him and commanded:
"Get away, you dirty dog, and mind what you are at next time you attempt
to insult a man who did no harm to you."
The whole tone and manner of the supposed dude had changed, and as the
three men joined each other at some distance one of them said:
"What was it we struck?"
"I reckon we struck against a stone wall or a flying brick, from the way
my face is swelling."
The men had gotten their surprise, and our hero, as a matter of
prudence, being alone in the grove, changed his disguise, dropped the
chappie role altogether, and walked off in an opposite direction. He had
visited the neighborhood for a special purpose, and his run-in with the
three rowdies had only been a side diversion.
Oscar walked over to a row of dilapidated-looking houses, where he had
presented a view of the miserable condition in which human beings can
live and thrive.
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