His comrades shouted joyful assent, and Dick, fighting like a tiger, but helpless in the hands of the wharf-rats, was dragged towards the river, where his captors intended to roll him in the deep mud left by the ebbing tide. The band, with their struggling victim in their midst, were close upon the river before Chippy got to his feet, his head still singing from that shrewd crack. 'Wot's the game?' said Chippy in a husky whisper to himself. 'I see. I heerd Carrots say it 'ud be a good game to roll one on 'em in the sludge. But that's seven on 'em to one. That ain't good enough!' And he began to hurry after them. 'Wot cheer, mates!' he shouted in his hoarse tones. ''Old 'ard a bit! Lemme come up!' But the victorious band were deaf to the calls of their leader, and at this instant they disappeared at a point where a sloping wharf ran from the quay edge into the river. 'Bring 'im along to the other end o' the wharf!' commanded the red-haired boy; 'then we'll chuck 'im bang into the mud, an' see 'im scrabble 'is way out!' 'Lemme go, you fellows!' yelled Dick, fighting with tooth and nail to wrench himself free; but there were too many for him, and Chippy, who loved fair play, and practised it, was too far behind. But, luckily for Dick, other help was at hand, or he would assuredly have been pitched straight into eighteen inches of foul black mud. A boat had been pulled from a ship in mid-stream to the wharf, and a tall gentleman landed from it as Dick was dragged past the spot. 'What! you, Dick?' shouted the new-comer. 'What does this mean?' and, followed by the boatman, he made a dash at the group. The wharf-rats threw down their captive and fled, and the gentleman picked Dick up. 'Thanks, Uncle Jim,' said Dick, puffing like a grampus. 'If you hadn't lent a hand, those wharf-rats would have tipped me over into the mud.' 'How did you fall into their hands?' asked his uncle. 'They've been a-sluggin', I shouldn't wonder,' remarked the boatman. 'That was it,' said Dick. 'There was a slug between our fellows and the wharf-rats out of Skinner's Hole, and they bagged me.' His uncle nodded. He had been a Bardon boy in his time, and knew all about it. He paid the boatman, and away he and Dick went together, for his house was in the same road as Dick's home. 'They're a jolly sly lot, those wharf-rats,' said Dick, as they walked along. 'Our fellows sent me ahead as a scout, but I never saw a sign of them, and yet they were waiting for us on the Flat all the time.' 'Seems to me you weren't much of a success as a scout, Dick,' said his uncle, smiling. 'You're right there, Uncle Jim,' replied Dick, a broad grin on his honest, open face. 'I muffed it that time, and no mistake. Hallo, here's the bobby!' The constable who had the Quay beat came hurrying along, looking red and angry. 'You 'ain't seen any o' them young varmints wot have been a-sluggin', have ye, Mr. Elliott?' he cried to Dick's uncle.