They were young men of from seventeen and eighteen to twenty-three and -four years of age, and bore the unmistakable stamp of the hoodlum class.

There were vicious faces among them--faces so vicious as to make Joe's flesh creep as he looked at them.

A couple grasped him tightly by the arms, and Fred and Charley were similarly held captive.
"Look here, you," said one who spoke with the authority of leader, "we 've got to inquire into this.

Wot 's be'n goin' on here?
Wot 're you up to, Red-head?
Wot you be'n doin' ?" "Ain't be'n doin' nothin'," Simpson whined.
"Looks like it." The leader turned up Brick's face to the electric light.

"Who 's been paintin' you up like that ?" he demanded.
Brick pointed at Joe, who was forthwith dragged to the front.
"Wot was you scrappin' about ?" "Kites--my kites," Joe spoke up boldly.