The bully was furious when he realized that he would be unable to secure an authorized patrol, and he and his cronies, two lads about his own age named Bill Bender and Sam Redding, had been busy ever since devising schemes to “get even” as they called it.  None of these, however, had been effective and the encounter of that day was the first chance Jack had had to work off any of his rancor on Rob Blake’s patrol.

Young Blake was the only son of Mr. Albert Blake, the president of the local bank.  His corporal, Merritt Crawford, was the eldest of the numerous family of Jared Crawford, the blacksmith and wheelwright of the little town, and Tubby Hopkins was the offspring of Mrs. Hopkins—­a widow in comfortable circumstances.  The other lads of the Patrol whom we shall meet as the story of their doings and adventures progresses were all natives of the town, which was situated on the south shore of Long Island—­as has been said—­and on an inlet which led out to the Atlantic itself.

The scouts trudged back into Hampton just at twilight and made their way at once to their armory—­as they called it—­which was situated In a large room above the bank of which Rob’s father was president.  At one side of it was a row of lockers and each lad—­after changing his uniform for street clothes—­placed his “regimentals” in these receptacles.

This done the lads broke up and started for their various homes.  Rob and his young corporal left the armory together, after locking the door and descending the stairs which led onto a side street.

“I wonder if that fellow Curtiss means to carry out his threat of getting even?” said Crawford as they made their way down the street arm in arm, for their homes were not far apart and both on Main Street.

“He’s mean enough to attempt anything,” rejoined Rob, “but I don’t think he’s got nerve enough to carry out any of his schemes.  Hullo!” he broke off suddenly, “there he is now across the street by the post office, talking to Bill Bender and Sam Redding.  I’ll bet they are hatching up some sort of mischief.  Just look at them looking at us.  I’ll bet a doughnut they were talking about us.”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” agreed his companion.  “By the way, I’ve got to go and see if there is any mail.  Come on over.”

The two lads crossed the street and as they entered the post office, although neither of them had much use for either of the bullies’ two chums, they nodded to them pleasantly.

“You kids think you’re pretty fine with your Eagle Patrol or whatever you call it, don’t you,” sneered Bill Bender, as they walked by.  “I’ll bet the smell of a little real powder would make your whole regiment run to cover.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” whispered the young corporal to Rob, who doubled up his fists and flushed angrily at the sneering tone Jack Curtiss’ friend had adopted.

Rob restrained his anger with an effort, and by the time they emerged from the post office the trio of worthies—­who, as Rob had rightly guessed, had been discussing them—­had moved on up the street.