agger 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
craw