So it was arranged that Joe should attend the wedding, and as he was in need of a new Sunday suit he purchased it at once, so that he could use it at the wedding.

“You’re in luck, Joe,” remarked Frank, when he heard the news.  “And that suit looks very well on you.”

In some manner it leaked out among the boys that Joe was going to the wedding, and two days before the affair came off Jack Sagger learned of it.  He immediately consulted with some of his cronies, and it was unanimously resolved to watch for Joe after the wedding was over and chastise him severely for the manner in which he had treated “the gang.”

“We’ll fix him,” said Sagger, suggestively.

At the proper time Joe took a car to the Sampson home and was there introduced to a dozen or more people.  The wedding proved an enjoyable affair and the elegant supper that was served was one long to be remembered.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Joe started for the hotel again.  He had thought to take a car, but afterwards concluded to walk.

“A walk will do me good—­after such a hearty supper,” he told himself.  “If I ride home I won’t be able to sleep.”

At the corner the Sagger crowd was waiting for him.  One gave a low whistle, and all slunk out of sight until Joe had passed.

Several blocks had been covered when our hero came to a spot where several new buildings were in the course of construction.  It was rather dark and the street lights cast long and uncertain shadows along the walk.

Joe had just started to cross a wooden bridge over an excavation when he heard a rush behind him.  Before he could turn he was given a violent shove.

“Push him into de cellar hole!” came, in Jack Sagger’s voice.

“Stop!” cried Joe, and it must be admitted that he was greatly alarmed.  But no attention was paid to his words, and over the side of the bridge he went, to fall a distance of a dozen feet and land in a pile of dirt, with one lower limb in a puddle of dirty water.

“Down he goes!” he heard, in the voice of Nick Sammel.  “Wonder how he likes it?”

“You’re a mean, low crowd!” cried Joe, as he stood up.  He was covered with dirt and the cold water felt anything but agreeable on such a frosty night as it chanced to be.

“Don’t you dare to crawl out of dat!” said Sagger.  “If yer do we’ll pitch yer in ag’in, won’t we, fellers?”

“Sure we will!” was the cry.

“De next time we’ll dump him in on his head!”

Growing somewhat accustomed to the semi-darkness, Joe counted seven of his tormentors, all standing on the edge of the cellar hole into which he had so unceremoniously been thrown.  Several of the youths had heavy sticks.

“I suppose I’ll have to retreat,” he reasoned “I can’t fight seven of them.”

He turned to the rear of the cellar hole and felt his way along into the deepest shadows.  Presently he reached a partly finished building and crawled up some planks leading to one of the floors.