The High School Freshmen Part 10

declared Thompson, as the two combatants came toward him. "Do you each feel as though you had fighting wind left?"

"I've got as much as the other fellow," replied d.i.c.k.

"Don't you dare refer to me as a 'fellow'!" ordered Ripley, scowling.

"I'll call you a girl, then, if you prefer," proposed d.i.c.k, with a tantalizing grin.

"You don't know how to talk to gentlemen," retorted Fred, harshly.

"Be silent, both of you," ordered Thompson, sternly. "You can do your talking in another way.

"Can't begin too soon for me," uttered Ripley.

"One minute rounds for you, gentlemen," continued Thompson, then turned to another upper cla.s.sman, requesting him to hold the watch.

"Now are you ready?"

Ripley grunted, d.i.c.k nodded.

"Ready, then! Shake hands!"

"I won't," replied d.i.c.k, st.u.r.dily, ere Fred could speak. The latter, though he, too, would have refused, went white with rage.

"Take your places, then," directed Thompson, briskly. "Ready!

Time!"

Fred Ripley put up a really splendid guard as he advanced warily upon the freshman. d.i.c.k's guard, at the outset, was not as good.

They feinted for two or three pa.s.ses, then Ripley let out a short-arm jab that caught d.i.c.k Prescott on the end of the nose. Blood began to drip.

Ripley's eyes danced. "I'll black both eyes, too, before I put you out," he threatened, in a low tone, as he fought in for another opening.

"Brag's a good dog," retorted d.i.c.k, quietly. The blow, though it had stung, had served to make him only the more cool. He was watching, cat-like, for Ripley's style of attack. That style was a good one, from the "scientific" view-point, if Ripley could maintain it without excitement and all the while keep his wind.

But would he? The freshman, though not much of a lover of fighting, had made some study of the art. Moreover, d.i.c.k had a dogged coolness that went far in the arena.

Suddenly, d.i.c.k let go such a seemingly careless shoulder blow with his left, straight for Ripley's face, that Fred almost lazily threw up his right arm to stop it. But to have that right out of the way was just what Prescott was playing for. Quick as thought d.i.c.k's right flew out, colliding with Ripley's mid-wind with a force that brought a groan from the taller fighter. d.i.c.k might have followed it up, but he chivalrously sprang back, waiting for Fred to make the first sign of renewal of combat.

"Time!" came from the boy with the watch.

"Kid, you're going to be all right; you've got your horse-sense with you," glowed Ben Badger, as he hurried d.i.c.k back under a tree. "Let me see what I can do to stop your nose running quite so red."

Soon the summons came that took the combatants back to the imaginary ring. Again they went at it, both sides cautious, for Ripley was puzzled and a bit afraid. He had not expected this little freshman to last for a second round. Before the second call of "time" came Ripley had managed to land two stinging ones on d.i.c.k's left cheek, but the freshman did not go down, nor even wilt under this treatment. He was proving the fact that he could "take punishment."

Yet d.i.c.k did not land anything that hurt his opponent.

"You didn't half try this time," whispered Ben, as he attended his man in the "corner" under the tree.

"Come on, mucker!" yelled Ripley, derisively, when the two were summoned for the third round.

"Speak for yourself, fellow," d.i.c.k answered, coolly.

"I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman's son," proclaimed Fred, haughtily.

"You're a mucker, and the son of a mucker!"

"Time!"

d.i.c.k could stand an ordinary insult with a fair amount of good nature, when he despised the source of the insult. But now there was a quiet flash in his eyes that Badger was glad to see.

Ripley started in to rush things. In quick succession he delivered half a dozen stout blows. Only one of then landed, and that glancingly.

Ripley was puzzled, but he had no time to guess. For d.i.c.k was not exactly rus.h.i.+ng, now. He was merely fighting in close, remembering that he had two striking hands, and that feinting was sometimes useful.

"A-a-a-h!" The murmur went up, eagerly, as the onlookers saw Prescott land his right fist in solid impact against Ripley's right eye.

b.u.mp! Before Ripley could get back out of such grueling quarters d.i.c.k had landed a second blow over the other eye. Ripley staggered.

A body blow sent him to his knees. d.i.c.k backed off but a few inches.

"One, two, three, four, five, six-----" droned off the timekeeper.

Fred Ripley tried to leap up, but, as he did so, d.i.c.k's waiting left caught him a staggering one on the nose that toppled him over backwards to the ground.

"One, two, three-----" began the timekeeper, but suddenly broke off, to call time.

"Prescott, you're a bird!" declared Ben Badger, exultantly, as he led his man away.

"I wouldn't have gone for him so hard," muttered d.i.c.k. "But the fellow started to get nasty with his mouth. Then it was time to let him have it."

Frank Thompson went over to Ripley, to see whether the latter wanted to continue the fight.

"That mucker took an unfair advantage of me, hitting me when I was getting up," grumbled Fred, who now looked a good deal battered.

"Prescott was right within the rules," declared Thompson. "You would have done the same thing if you had had the chance."

Fred growled something under his breath.

"Are you coming back to the ring?" demanded the referee.

Ripley hesitated. The yellow streak was strong in him, but he dreaded letting the others see it.

"I'd rather finish this up some other day," he proposed.

"You know you can't do that," retorted Thompson, disgustedly.

"You either have to come up to the scratch, or admit yourself beaten."

"Admit myself beaten---by that mucker?" gasped Ripley, turning livid.

"Then come up at the call of time," directed Thompson, and strode back to the battle ground.

The timekeeper called. d.i.c.k Prescott returned to his ground.

Ripley stood back, leaning against a tree. He tried hard to look dignified, but one glance at his nose and eyes was enough to spoil the effect.

"Coming, Ripley?" demanded Thompson.