The Dutch boy sat up beside his friend who had started to pull him out, and a most wretched spectacle he presented.

“Oxcuse me!” he exclaimed, clawing dirt out of his eyes. “I don’t like dot kindt uf peesness!”

“Waal, what in thutteration did yeou want to kick the head offen me for when I tried to pull yeou aout?” snapped the other lad, glaring at him. “Yeou made me see mor’n four bushels of stars, an’ there’s many’s four hundrud an’ seventeen chime bells a ding-dongin’ in my head naow.”

“Who id vos kicked my headt off you?” spluttered the Dutch boy. “You nefer touched me. Vot der madder vos, anyhow?”

The youth who had extracted the Dutch lad from the barrel laughingly said:

“I see you fellows are up to your old tricks. You are quarreling, as usual.”

“Hey?” cried the tall lad.

“Vot?” squawked the Dutch boy.

“How are you, Ephraim?” laughed the rescuer.

“Jeewhillikins!” yelled the tall youth, jumping to his feet, his face fairly beaming. “Jee-roo-sa-lum! Yeou kin beat my brains out with a feather duster ef it ain’t Frank Merriwell!”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” howled the Dutch boy, wildly scrambling up. “I hope I may nefer see your eyes oudt uf again uf dot ain’t Frank Merriwell!”

“Right,” nodded the rescuer. “I am Frank Merriwell, just as sure as you are Ephraim Gallup and Hans Dunnerwurst.”

“Whoop!” roared Ephraim.

“Wa-ow!” bellowed Hans.

Then they made a rush at the handsome fellow, who had given his name as Frank Merriwell, flung their arms about him, and literally danced as they hugged him.

The spectators looked on in astonishment.

“Oh, great jumpin’ grasshoppers!” shouted the Yankee lad. “Ain’t this the gol dingdest s’prise party I ever struck!”

 Prev. P 4/152 next