nd go out on the porch to cool off," growled
Joe Dawson.

One of the servants, in the excess of excitement, actually took the
fair-haired youth by the shoulders, and, though the latter protested,
thrust him out through the open door onto the porch, slamming the door
after him.

"That's too bad," grinned Hank. "I'll go out and see if the poor
fellow has fainted."

As Butts stepped out on the porch, closing the door shut after him,
Dawley, his cheeks very red, leaped out from the chair into which he
had sunk.

"It was you who played that mean trick on my friend," cried Dawley, in
a voice which he fondly believed trembled with rage.

"Yes," admitted Hank, meekly.

"I'll punish you for that!" quivered the soft-voiced one, stepping
forward.

"Don't strike me on the wrist," pleaded Hank. "I have rheumatism
there."

But Dawley, too angry, or else too dull to understand that he was
being made a mark for ridicule, continued to advance upon Butts, who
retreated, a look of mock alarm in his face.

"Keep away from me--please do, while you're angry," begged Hank, still
retreating.

"I won't!" snapped Dawley. As Hank now retreated rapidly backward,
Dawley went after him with corresponding speed.

"If you must have it, then, why--take it!" cried Hank, in a tone of
desperation.

One of his hands had been held under his rain-coat all along. Now Hank
thrust the other hand inside, as well, to reach for some object
concealed there.

"Oh. O-o-oh! Don't you drop that weight on my foot!" yelled Dawley,
blanching and falling up against the wooden wall.

But Hank, ruthlessly, as one whose blood is up, brought both his hands
swiftly into view as he sprang at Dawley. There was a yell from the
fair-haired one as Hank bent forward, then dropped squarely on the
toes of Dawley's right foot--his _pocket-handkerchief_!

"There, now!" mimicked Hank Butts, turning on his heel.

A roar of laughter came from Mr. Seaton, Tom, Joe and two or three of
the bystanders who had followed outside.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

"I'm sorry, young man," said Powell Seaton, resting a hand on Dawley's
collar, "but the chief of police wants to see you."

"I'm not arrested, am I?" demanded the soft-voiced one, in a tone of
great alarm.

"I think not. But come along. The chief wants to see you in the
office."

There they found Hunter and his manacled prisoner, who had been
carried into the office just as he sat on the chair.

"Where'