CHAPTER IXJIMMY TAKES CHARGE
Dud’s first impulse was to turn back, but one of Star’s audience had seen him already, and so, after a moment of hesitation, he went on and, since Star had his back toward the door, reached his locker before the speaker saw him. Then there was an instant’s silence. Dud pulled open the locker door, took his towel out and dropped it on the bench. Then:
“Got canned, did you?” asked Star. “Maybe you’ll learn after a while that you can’t do that sort of thing and get away with it.”
“I didn’t mean to hit you, Meyer, honestly,” returned Dud. “I—I’m awfully sorry. There was a pebble or something——”
“Oh, forget your pebbles! You know very well you meant to hit me. You’ve been doing a lot of talking around school lately. I’ve heard it. And I’d have given you a mighty good spanking if you’d been big enough to notice.” Star had walked around the end of the bench and now faced Dud like an outraged Jove from a yard away. Dud tried hard toappear undisturbed, but the mere publicity was enough to send the blood into his cheeks and put a tremor in his voice as he answered.
“I haven’t been talking about you, Meyer,” he said as stoutly as he could. “And, anyhow, you needn’t try to bully me. I’ve apologized for that—that accident, and that’s all I can do.”
“Oh, you apologize, do you?” Star laughed amusedly. “Well, apologies don’t answer, kid. If you weren’t so small I’d kick you around the room, you—you ugly-faced little insect!”
“Never mind my size!” cried Dud, throwing discretion to the winds in the sudden flare of anger. “And never mind about my looks, either! Any time you want to start kicking you go ahead, Meyer! I’m not afraid of you! You’re a bluff, a big bluff, that’s all you——”
Star’s right hand shot out suddenly and the open palm landed hard on Dud’s cheek. The blow sent him sprawling across the bench, but he was on his feet again in an instant, his face white save where the impact of Star’s hand had left a tingling red stain. Star, smiling crookedly, had stepped back, ready for Dud’s rush. But the rush wasn’t made, for at that instant “Davy” Richards’ voice came sternly from the doorway.
“Here, boys! Stop that! Look you, Meyer, leave him alone! What mean you hitting a boy beneathyour size, eh?” Davy was Welsh and when excited relapsed into a brogue as broad as it was difficult of reproduction in type. Star looked around, shrugged his shoulders and laughed lightly.
“I wasn’t hitting him, Davy. I merely slapped his face for him. If I ever really hit him he’d know it!”
“Well, no more of it in this house! ’Tis no place for fighting. And you there, you, Baker, behave yourself, do you hear me? No more now or I’ll take a hand myself!” Davy retired grumbling, and one of the audience of three chuckled as he got up and sauntered out. The others exchanged glances of amusement and went on with their dressing. Star nonchalantly retired to his own bench, leaving Dud standing with clenched fists and angry face in the middle of the floor, for once unconscious of the curious gazes of others.
“It isn’t finished yet, Meyer,” he said at last in a low voice.
Star glanced up contemptuously. “You’ll be finished if you try any more funny stunts with me, Baker,” he said threateningly. “And I want you to stop talking about me, too. Hear that? The next time I’ll do a lot more than slap your ugly face for you!”
“You’ll fight me!”
“I wouldn’t bother to!” Star laughed. “I might break you in two if I hit you!”
“You’ll fight me,” reiterated Dud doggedly. “If you won’t——”
He stopped, for Davy was glowering at him from the doorway.
“Look you, Baker, what I say I mean! One more word about fighting while you’re in this place and out you go!”
Dud subsided and silence reigned until the door opened to admit a number of released second team candidates, by which time Dud was ready for his shower. When he returned to the lockers Star had gone. By that time the room was crowded from end to end, for practice was over and some forty-odd boys were struggling for space. Jimmy spied his chum and pushed his way to him.
“Oh, Dud, it was fine!” he whispered delightedly. “Only why didn’t you put it a foot or so higher and ‘bean’ him? Did you see him again?”
Dud nodded.
“Was he mad?” demanded Jimmy eagerly. “Hello, what are you looking so funny about? You didn’t—I say, Dud, you two didn’t——” He paused expressively.
“We had words,” replied Dud in low tones, “and he—slapped my face.”
“Slapped——” Jimmy whistled. Then: “Greatstuff, Dud! What did you do? Where were you? I wish I’d seen it!”
“I didn’t do anything. Davy butted in. I’m going to fight him, though.”
“Of course! Slapped your face, eh, the big bully? That—that’s a fighting matter, Dud. When are you going to do it?”
“He refused; said he wouldn’t bother with me; said he might break me in two! But he’s got to fight, Jimmy!”
“You bet he has!” agreed Jimmy enthusiastically. “But listen: let me get my shower. You wait for me, will you? We’ve got to talk this over, you know.”
“There isn’t anything to talk over,” said Dud flatly. “He’s got to fight me.”
“Yes, but if he says he won’t—— You wait for me, see? I won’t be a minute.” And Jimmy, beaming broadly, dashed off.
Dud found a corner by the door and waited, listening idly to the chatter of the fellows. Nearby Foster Tray, struggling with a stubborn shirt, remarked in smothered tones:
“Did you see Baker peg Star in the arm, Mil? It was a fierce old biff!”
“Yes,” replied Oscar Milford, “and Star was hopping mad.” He chuckled. “Said Baker did it on purpose. Well, maybe he did. I don’t know.But they say Baker’s got Star scared of him, for some reason.”
“Oh, piffle! A kid like that? Not likely! But it isn’t sense getting mad about being hit with a ball. Gee, if I got peeved every time I got whacked last year——”
A good-natured altercation over the possession of a bath towel that both Leddy and Parker laid claim to drowned the rest of Tray’s remark and Dud slipped further along. Captain Murtha ran across him a moment later and stopped an instant.
“Say, Baker, you did mighty well there for a while today. Keep it up, old man. But don’t lay out any more of the team, eh? You might leave us short-handed!” Guy laughed, nodded and went on, and presently, showing numerous evidences of having dressed hurriedly, Jimmy arrived a bit breathless and dragged Dud outside. There, one arm through Dud’s, he led the way back to the dormitory.
“Now,” he demanded eagerly, “let’s have the whole story.”
“Well, I stepped on a pebble or something and the ball got away and hit Star on the shoulder.”
“Yes,” chuckled Jimmy, “I saw that. Something ought to be done about those pebbles!” And he winked meaningly.
“But it was a pebble!” declared Dud. “I didn’t mean to hit him!”
“You didn’t!” Jimmy was incredulous, incredulous and disappointed. “Gee, I thought of course you did it so he’d get mad and fight! Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am,” answered Dud shortly. “Don’t be a fool, Jimmy.”
“Oh, all right, then. It was an accident.” Jimmy sighed. “Then what?”
Dud brought the narrative to its conclusion by the time they were crossing the campus, and Jimmy disengaged his arm in order to slap Dud approvingly on the back. “Fine!” he declared. “Just what we wanted! By the time we put this thing through, Dud, you’ll be the most talked-of fellow in school!”
“I don’t want to be talked of. I’m sick of all that rot. All I want is to show Star Meyer that he can’t slap me and—and get away with it!”
“Sure! But it’ll do you a lot of good if you lick him, don’t you see? Fellows will call you a plucky kid and all that. Oh, there’s nothing to it, Dud! Here’s where we make good, old son!”
“I’m not likely to lick him,” replied the other quietly. “I dare say he will beat me to a pulp, but he won’t do it before I’ve got in a few,” he added grimly.
“That’s all right, too, but it’s going to make a lot bigger hit if you get the decision,” responded Jimmy. “No, you’d better make up your mind to lick him, Dud.”
“Make up my mind!” replied the other impatiently as they traveled together down the corridor. “How’s making up my mind going to help? He can lick me, and you know it. And I know it. What’s the good of talking rot like that?”
“How do you know he can?” asked Jimmy eagerly. “I’ll bet you anything Star’s got a yellow streak in him somewhere. And you’ve been learning right along, haven’t you? Why, say, I call you a mighty clever boxer right this minute, Dud! Yes, I do, honest! And—I say, what time is it? Fine! We’ve just got time to put on the gloves for a few minutes. I was reading in that book——”
“I’m not going to put on the gloves,” answered Dud decidedly. “I’ll fight him just as I am. All that scientific stuff isn’t much good, anyway. It didn’t keep him from almost knocking me flat on the floor this afternoon, did it?”
“But you weren’t looking for it! If you’d known——”
“Besides, the thing is to get him to fight. He says he won’t. How can I make him, Jimmy?”
“We-ell——” Jimmy studied the question with his head on one side and his mouth pursed. At last:“There are two or three ways, I guess. You might challenge him publicly or you might just walk up and slap his face the way he slapped yours or you might——”
“That’s good enough,” interrupted Dud. “Come on!”
“Hold on! Where are you going?”
“To find him!”
“Well, but—but wait! Hold on! See here, Dud, you can’t walk into a fellow’s room and biff him, you know!”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because it isn’t done, old chap. Violation of—er—hospitality and all that, you know. What you want to do is to find him some time when other fellows are around, see? Then he can’t possibly refuse. But you want to make sure that a faculty isn’t looking! Better wait now until morning and get him in School Hall; in the corridor, say. Yes, that’s the idea. There’ll be a crowd around, and——”
“I’d rather do it now,” said Dud. “Maybe—by tomorrow—I might not—might not want to so much!”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll keep you up to it, son. Trust me. You see, Dud, this is a wonderful opportunity and we want to make the most of it. You wait until the morning and then find Star in the corridor between recitations. There’s bound to be acrowd there. Imagine the sensation when you step up to him and let him have it right on the cheek! Maybe you’d ought to say something, too, something—er—effective. Let’s see now. Suppose——”
“Look here, Jimmy, this isn’t any silly pageant! I don’t care whether anyone’s around or not. All you think about is making a public show of it! You make me tired!”
“Nothing of the sort,” returned Jimmy indignantly. “All I say is that if you’re going to do it you ought to do it right! What’s the good of balling it all up when, by using a little—er—a little headwork, you can make a great big hit? No, sir, you listen to me. I’m managing you in this affair, Dud. Just you sit still and leave the whole business to me.”
“Leave it to you——” began Dud bitterly.
“Besides, I’ve got a better scheme, old chap! Let’s do it shipshape, eh? After supper I’ll call on Star and take your challenge to him. Then, if he says he won’t fight, we’ll go ahead with the public insult scheme. But that will be giving him a chance to accept like a gentleman. And, of course, whether he accepts or doesn’t, the thing is just bound to leak out.” Jimmy grinned. “Those things always do.”
“I wish,” said Dud moodily, “I’d kept my mouth shut and not told you anything about it. You’re bound to go and hire a brass band and make ahullabaloo! I dare say”—sarcastically—“you’ll be selling tickets for the fight!”
“By Jove, that isn’t a bad idea! I don’t mean to sell tickets, but we might issue invitations or—or something. ‘You are cordially invited to be present at an informal scrap between Dudley Baker and Starling Meyer at five-thirty on Friday. R. S. V. P.’”
“I wish you’d quit making a silly joke of it,” complained Dud. “If you think it’s so terribly funny, why don’t you fight him yourself?”
“I would in a minute if he slapped my face,” replied Jimmy promptly. “Maybe he will when I take the challenge to him. Gee, I wish he’d try it! Still, I suppose you’d claim the right to the first scrap. Well, that’s settled, then. Come on to supper now. Better be sort of careful what you eat, you know. You want to keep in condition. What do you say to tomorrow afternoon before supper down at the Beach? We’d be out of sight there and it would be handy for fellows to get to after practice. No use staging the affair too far away if we want a good attendance, eh? Got to consider folks’ comfort some, you know. All ready?”