The Grammar School Boys of Gridley Part 38

d.i.c.k took a step forward, his face grave but his eyes steady as he faced his accuser.

"Ben, I know you're sore, but if you say that I, or any of my friends told on you, then you're going too far."

"You did!" a.s.serted young Alvord. "You blabbed!"

"I didn't, and we didn't; not one of us."

"That's all right to say after you're caught," flared Ben.

"Then you call us liars?" flashed Dave Darrin, pushing his way forward, his fists clenched.

"You are, if you say you didn't blab!" panted Ben.

"Fight! fight!" chorused some of the boys.

"Get back, Dave, and keep cool," warned d.i.c.k, pushing his chum to the rear. "This thing started with me, and it's my affair first of all. Ben Alvord, look at me! I don't want to fight. I don't believe in fighting when it can be helped. I know you're sore, too, for you've just had a rough time of it after what you thought was fun on Hallowe'en. But you're going too far when you say we blabbed on you, for we didn't."

"Who did, then?" sneered Ben.

"I don't know. I'm not the chief of police. But, just because you can't think who told on you, you needn't come along and accuse us."

"I say you did tell--you or some of your gang!" retorted Ben.

"It sounds likely enough. No one else knew," muttered a boy on the outskirts of the crowd.

"Of course d.i.c.k Prescott or some of his gang told on us," insisted Ben Alvord angrily.

d.i.c.k took a step closer to his accuser.

"Then, Ben, you're a liar!" Prescott announced coolly.

"Punch him!" urged another boy, giving Ben a shove toward d.i.c.k.

"You bet I will!" snapped Alvord. "I don't allow a sneak to call me a liar."

"You can have a fight, if you insist on it," agreed d.i.c.k promptly. "You can have it right away, too, and it will last as long as you want. But this is no place. Let's go up to the field where we used to practise football."

"Whoop! Come on!" The crowd of Grammar School boys surged around the prospective fighters. A big procession started up the road.

"See here, this whole crowd can't come. So many will get us into trouble," shouted Dave.

"I'll name ten of d.i.c.k's friends, and Ben can name ten of his friends.

No one else will be allowed to come."

Dave quickly called off his list of boys.

"Choose me, Ben!" "Choose me!" urged two score boys whom Dave had not named. Ben looked around, trying to select those whom he thought most friendly to himself.

Then the procession started again, containing only the chosen ones.

Others wanted to go, but knew they would be driven back by the selected twenty friends.

The field was quickly reached. Ben Alvord was cooling, now. He would have drawn out of the fight, but knew that he couldn't get out without discredit. So Ben pulled off his jacket, took off his collar and tie and made ready.

d.i.c.k, who was almost wholly free from anger, made similar preparations.

After a good deal of disputing Hoof Sadby was agreed upon as a referee satisfactory to both sides. Dave, of course, seconded d.i.c.k, while Alvord chose Toby Ross.

"Get your men forward," ordered Hoof. "Want to shake hands before you start?"

"No," growled Ben sullenly.

"Time, then! Get busy!"

d.i.c.k threw himself on guard. He was not an amazingly good boxer, but he had been through a few schoolboy fights.

"I'll knock your head off and wind it up!" blazed Ben, darting forward.

Instead of carrying out his programme, Ben received a blow on the nose that staggered him.

"No fair!" howled Ben, retreating. "I hadn't my guard up."

"Your fault, then," mocked d.i.c.k.

"All fair," chimed in Hoof. "Stop talking and mix it up."

Ben soon advanced once more, rather disconcerted by the wholly steady bearing of d.i.c.k Prescott.

This time Alvord tried to foul by hitting below the belt. d.i.c.k sidestepped and drove in a blow against Ben's left eye.

"My! That was a socker!" yelled some of the spectators.

"You're hitting too hard. It ain't fair," wailed Ben, backing off.

"If all you want is gymnastics you don't need me," mocked d.i.c.k. "Fight, if you're going to. If you're not, then get out of this."

"Mix it up!" ordered Hoof tersely, and the crowd took up the cry.

Ben suddenly let loose. For a few moments he kept young Prescott pretty busy. Not all of Ben's blows were fended off, either. d.i.c.k's face began to show red spots from the hard impacts of Alvord's tough little fists.

"Good boy, Ben! Go in and wind up his clock!" came the gleeful advice.

"You've got him started. Keep him going!"

Just then a blow under the chin sent Ben down to the ground.

"Keep back, Prescott. Don't hit him while he's down," cried several. But this d.i.c.k had no intention of doing. Panting slightly, he waited for Ben to get to his feet. This Alvord soon did, drawing away crouchingly.

"Got enough?" hailed d.i.c.k.

"I'll show you!" raged Ben, rushing forward.