“They’re fools, then,” Dick retorted tersely.  “You could see, in Miller to-night, what alcohol does toward making one strong.  That man is still powerful, but I’m satisfied that he was once a great deal stronger.  Miller’s muscles have grown flabby since he began to drink.  His speed is less than it must have been formerly.  Even his nerve—–­his grit—–­has been impaired by the stuff he has been drinking.  Did you notice how early in the fight his wind left him?  The man has very little of his former strength, and the blame belongs to the liquor he has used.”

“Here’s my gate,” said Tom Drake, at last, as they halted before the little cottage.  “Come in.  I’ve got to tell my wife about you.  I wonder where my two girls are?”

Dick and his friends tried to get out of going into the yard, but their new friend would not have it that way, so silently they followed Drake up the path.  Then, through a front window, Tom Drake saw his girls.

His wife sat at a table, her head resting on her arms.  On the floor sat the toddler, Mollie, still in her white dress.  She had two broken dolls, pretending to play with them, but the woebegone look in her little face showed that her thoughts were elsewhere.

Tom Drake choked as he looked in at the window.  Then, throwing up his head resolutely, he lifted the latch, entering the room with firm tread.

“I’m a bit late, girls, but come on up in the village!” he invited.  “Here, Hattie, you take charge of this little roll,” he added, thrusting his money into his wife’s hand.

Not more than three minutes later the three Drakes issued from the house, Mollie enjoying a “ride” on her father’s shoulder.

“Why, where are the boys?” he demanded.  “I left them here.”

“Gone, like all good angels, when their work is done,” smiled his wife.

“It’s all right, anyway, girls,” Tom Drake answered cheerily.  “We’re pretty sure to find ’em up in the village, where we’re going.”

In the first place that the Drakes entered they came upon Dick and his three friends.  The Gridley boys, after dodging a crowd that wanted to lionize young Prescott, had taken refuge, unseen, in the back of an otherwise deserted ice cream saloon.

“There they are!” cried Mollie, running the length of the shop, as fast as her chubby little legs could take her.  She ran straight to Dick who bent over to give her a gentle hug.

“I don’t know what to say to you young men,” cried Mrs. Drake, halting beside the boys, her voice breaking a little, her eyes moist.

“Then, if you’ll permit me to offer a suggestion,” Dick smiled back, as he rose, “it seems to me that conversation might spoil several good things.  Won’t you all sit down and be our guests in a little ice cream feast that we have started?”

It was almost an hour before the little party broke up.  A few interested citizens, however, found the hiding place of the Gridley High School boys and insisted on coming in to shake hands with the boys.