The High School Freshmen Part 9

Like a flash d.i.c.k was on his feet, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng, cheeks flus.h.i.+ng crimson.

"Go on, hounds, go on!" he shouted. "I can take care of this one disgrace to Gridley H.S.!"

CHAPTER V

THE "MUCKER" AND THE "GENTLEMAN"

Ben Badger gave Captain d.i.c.k a shove. "Go on, Prescott! Go on, hounds!" roared Badger. "You've only one more capture to make.

Run along, d.i.c.k! I'll take care of Ripley. He'll stay right here until you come back, or else he'll never have the nerve to show his face at Gridley H.S. again! Run, you hounds!"

d.i.c.k needed no farther urging.

Though he was naturally wild with anger, inside, he managed to keep that feeling down and back. He was captain of the hounds.

He had his duty to his team and his cla.s.s first of all to think about.

"Come on, hounds!" he shouted to those who had lagged at sight of the knock-down. "One more hare in our trap---then we'll be back here!"

What he meant by being "back here" everyone present could guess.

In fact, many wondered why there had not sooner been a fight between the freshman and his determined soph.o.m.ore enemy.

Truth to tell, d.i.c.k, after that day in the school grounds, had been inclined to overlook the whole affair.

He was not afraid of Ripley. It was only that d.i.c.k's ordinary good nature had triumphed. He was not a brawler, yet could stand out for his rights when a need came.

A third of a mile further on another yell of triumph floated back to young Prescott, who had not yet regained the lead.

In a few moments more the last of the hounds came upon a flushed, joyous group of freshmen runners. With them were two of the judges and a sheepish-looking hare.

The freshmen hounds had won, and had bagged all the hares for which the game called. Let the five remaining hares keep on running to the finish, if they would. For the first time in seven years the freshmen hounds, led by Captain d.i.c.k Prescott, had won.

"Ki-yi-yi-yi-yi!" howled the exultant fourth cla.s.smen. "And another for d.i.c.k Prescott."

"d.i.c.k Prescott has other game on his hands now," spoke up Dan Dalzell, one of the late arrivals.

"What's the row?" demanded the freshman who had just bagged the seventh hare.

"Row? That's just it," nodded Dan. "Prescott caught Ripley---"

"We saw that."

"But you didn't see the finish. Ripley, as soon as he was released, knocked d.i.c.k down."

"And _you_ came on with the hounds, d.i.c.k!" demanded Tom Reade, incredulously.

"Badger is keeping Ripley on ice until we get back," Dan supplied, hastily.

"Then let us get back quick!" begged Reade.

"Not too fast, though," objected Dan. "Remember, Ripley has been getting his wind back since he stopped. Give our d.i.c.k the same show."

No one thought of asking why d.i.c.k would need his wind now. To those who had heard the brief recital of facts it was plain that there could be but one finish to the afternoon's sport. Prescott's hand was sound, at last, and he could give an account of himself.

"Walk slowly, all hands," insisted Dan. "d.i.c.k, old fellow, on the way back, amuse yourself by getting in all the full, deep breaths that you can."

"I'll be all right," spoke d.i.c.k confidently.

It did not look that way to many of them. d.i.c.k was shorter, and weighed much less than did the soph.o.m.ore who was waiting back there under the trees. Ripley had had a good deal of training in boxing, and was not a coward when he thought the odds on his own side. What none of the fellows knew, though, was that the lawyer's son, ever since that scene in the school yard, had been at his boxing lessons again with renewed energy.

"Play him for delay, at first, d.i.c.k," whispered Dan. "If Ripley can rush you, and get you excited, he'll have a better chance to win out. If you hold him off, hinder him and delay him, before long he'll lose some of his nerve. A fellow like Ripley will begin to go all to pieces, once he gets it into his head that he has a long and hard job before him."

"I'll do my best," d.i.c.k promised. "Hang it, if he hadn't knocked me down so treacherously, I wouldn't care about fighting. I don't care so much what he _says_. Fred Ripley's mouth is the weakest part of him."

The soph.o.m.ore was waiting, a sulky frown on his face. A few feet away Ben Badger, a grim look on his usually good-humored face, leaned against a tree, his arms folded.

Even had he wanted to get away from this, Ripley couldn't have done it. For a soph.o.m.ore to find any excuse for getting out of a fight with a freshman would bring down upon the soph all the wrath and disgust of the disgraced third cla.s.s.

"Come on, mucker! Take off your sweater and get ready to take your real medicine!" snarled Fred, harshly.

But d.i.c.k Prescott, young as he was, was much too wise to allow himself to be betrayed into anger. Instead, he halted a few feet away, looking with a significant smile at his enemy.

"As I understand it," replied Prescott, "the festivities that are soon to commence are to decide which is the mucker---which will go down to the ground to eat his fill of dirt."

Badger, Thompson and Butler took upon themselves the direction of the coming "affair."

"See here, Ted, you look after Ripley's interests," proposed Badger.

"It's a mean job. I'd sooner have the other side of the bet,"

grumbled Ted Butler, in an undertone.

"I'll look after young Prescott," continued Ben Badger. "Thomp will do all the honors as referee."

Ripley was already peeling off his sweater.

"Get down to your fighting rig, Prescott," urged Badger, leading his princ.i.p.al to one side. "How are you, boy?" he whispered, anxiously. "Feeling right up to the fighting pitch?"

"I hate fighting," d.i.c.k answered, simply, speaking so that only his second could hear him.

"Of course it's necessary sometimes, but I can never quite help feeling that, at best, it's low-down business."

"So it is," a.s.sented Bed Badger, heartily enough. "But what about it in the case of a sneak like Ripley? If he didn't have other fellows' fists to fear he'd be unbearable."

"He is, anyway," muttered d.i.c.k, just before his head was covered by the sweater that Badger was helping him remove.

"You've been doing a lot of running this afternoon, gentlemen,"