Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record онлайн

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Everybody took a slam at Hotchkiss, and when they got through with him he had been pounded to a frazzle—but he had got rid of the bone.

“That’ll do!” he cried. “I’m no punching bag—let up.”

“Where’s the bone?” asked Bleeker severely.

“Gone! It’s not bothering me half so much, now, as you fellows are.”

“Prove it’s gone.”

“How?”

“Sing. Go on, Hotch.”

“I’ve eaten too much—I can’t sing.”

“Try it!” clamored the others.

“Shucks,” deprecated Hotch, “I’ve got a voice like a foghorn. But here goes.”

He threw back his head and went at it.

“I once knew a girl in the year of eighty-nine—

A handsome young thing by the name of Emmaline—

I never could persuade her for to leave me be,

And she went and she took and she married me-e-e!”

A chorus of groans greeted Hotchkiss’ attempt.

“That’s a ranch song, Hotch,” said Bleeker sternly, “and it is not in good taste. Try again. We——”

But Hotchkiss did not get a chance to try again. Bleeker’s words were cut short by the clear, yet distant, note of a firearm.