THE POGUEY FIGHT
Fred staunched his bleeding nose at the basin in the corner, and then
exchanged pillows with Howell Purdy. Fred slept on the burst one.
"I'll get into trouble anyway over this," Fred growled in Bobby's ear.
"I wish I could have hit that mean bully just once with something hard."
Bobby hadn't the heart to scold. Fred had attacked a much bigger boy
than himself just because that bully had flung a pillow at Fred's chum.
That was the impulsive way of Fred Martin. Bobby knew that his chum was
going to have a hard row to hoe here at Rockledge, unless he learned to
control his temper.
Bobby Blake had some difficulty in getting to sleep that night--and that
was not usually the case with him. The plan of Bill and Jack to haze
the two newcomers to Rockledge had evidently been stopped. The
dormitory was not disturbed until morning, save that once in the night
Pee Wee had a nightmare and groaned and fought, until the next fellow to
him punched him and woke him up.
"Wow!" said the fat boy, "I thought I was up in a balloon and they
wanted to put me out instead of dropping sandbags."
"Don't eat so much at supper; then you won't dream such stuff," growled
Mouser Pryde, punching his pillow and settling down again.
The rising bell at half past six got everybody but Pee Wee out of bed.
Mouser pulled off the bed clothes, but that did not start the fat boy,
and finally, when the others were half dressed, Mouser tiptoed over from
the basins with a glass of water, and let the drops trickle down, one by
one, upon Perry's fat neck.
"Ow! ow! ouch!" bawled Pee Wee. "Something's sprung a leak. Let me up
before I drown!"
He struck the floor before he was half awake and landed in his bare feet
upon a set of "jacks" that Shiner had conveniently dropped on the rug.
"Ow! what are these things? Wow! I'll bet I can't walk at all now."
"They hurt worse than the stone bruise, eh?" asked Bobby, grinning.
"These fellows are always playing jokes on me," grumbled Pee Wee. "And
I never do a living thing to hurt them."
The fat boy _was_ a tempting subject for a joke, and he probably was the
butt more often than anybody else.
While they were dressing, Fred almost got in a fight with Shiner because
the latter called him "Ginger." Bobby took his chum aside.
"Now, Fred, that name's bound to stick," he said. "What's the use of
getting mad at it? They all like you; no use in making enemies. Take it
laughingly."
"That's because of Smartie Gray," grumbled Fred. "_He_ called me
'Ginger' first."
"That isn't as bad as 'Bricktop'," suggested Bobby, smiling. "You ought
to be glad it's no worse. I expect they'll find a nickname for me
pretty soon, that will be a corker!"
At seven the bell rang again and they all marched down to breakfast.
Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks scowled at Bobby and Fred on the stairs, but
the captain was near and they did not say a word to the chums.
Before the boys separated, the first master, Mr. Leith, said:
"Young gentlemen: Doctor Raymond will see you all in the hall at eleven.
Nobody is to be out of bounds this morning. Be prompt at eleven,
remember. You are excused."
Bobby thought Mr. Leith a very grim and serious gentleman indeed.
As the smaller boys scurried out of the hall to the porch, they found a
steady stream of boys going down the basement steps to the gymnasium.
Howell Purdy and Shiner were set, one on either side of the doorway,
where they whispered to those who passed:
"Poguey fight in the gym at nine. Don't forget the poguey fight."
"What _is_ that, Shiner?" asked Bobby.
"You don't want to miss it," grinned Shiner. "You and your chum are at
the bottom of it."
"But we're not going to fight," declared Bobby.
"No. But Bill and Jack are. No fear!"
Bobby and Fred did not go down into the basement at once. There was
still an hour before the time set by Captain Gray, the evening before,
for the mysterious "poguey fight." Nobody whom the chums asked would
tell them any particulars.
"I expect I'll get into trouble over bloodying that pillow," said Fred.
"What shall I tell them if they ask me?"
"Say your nose bled," returned Bobby. "If they ask you _how_ it came to
bleed, that's another question."
"Well, that's the question I'm afraid of."
"Wouldn't you tell on that Bill Bronson?"
"No. The other boys would say I snitched. I hate him, but I won't
snitch on him," declared Fred.
"Maybe nobody will ask you. And Barry Gray will take your side."
"I don't want him to take my side," growled Fred. "He's a big fellow,
too, and expects to be toadied to."
"You're making a mistake about him, I think," said Bobby, mildly. He
knew it was no use to argue the matter with his chum.
They walked out across the campus to the railing that bordered the edge
of the bluff. They were standing there looking across the beautiful
lake, and talking, when there was a sudden scrimmage over on one of the
tennis courts.
"Hello! a fight!" exclaimed Fred, with lively interest.
"Pshaw!" said Bobby, with some disgust. "You're always looking for a
fight!"
"I'm not either! What do you call that?" denied and demanded Fred in
the same breath.
"It's the captain," said Bobby, slowly. "And some of the big fellows--I
know! they're dragging Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks away to the gym.
There's going to be something doing--"
Just then Pee Wee appeared at the corner of the main building and yodled
for the Clinton boys, beckoning them across the campus with excited
gestures.
"Come o-o-on!" bawled the fat boy.
Fred grabbed Bobby's hand and started running. The chums were at the
gym steps almost as quickly as the big fellows and their captives.
"You let me alone, Barry Gray!" yelled Bill, as he was shoved down the
steps. "I'll fix you for this."
"Thanks, Billy Bronson. I can do my own fixing. You agreed to this, and
you'll go through with it," Barry said, firmly.
"_I_ didn't do a thing," Jack was urging.
"Ah! but you're going to," chuckled Barry, who seemed to have answers
ready for both objectors.
The bullies were dragged below. The smaller boys followed. Every boy
in the school was waiting in the gymnasium, and no teacher--not even the
athletic instructor--was present.
Some of the boys had been at work on the bars, or the ladder, or
otherwise using the gymnastic paraphernalia. They all gathered around
in interest to see what the big boys were going to do with the bullies.
Bill Bronson and his chum kicked and struggled for a time. But there
were enough to help Barry, so that their struggles were useless. The
bullies' shoes were quickly removed, despite their kicking. Then a sort
of harness made of straps was buckled around both boys under their arms.
There was a steel ring sewed into the crosspiece of each harness at the
back.
Somebody produced eight objects that looked like huge
boxing-gloves--only they were made of cotton cloth stuffed with
cotton-batting. One of these clumsy things was strapped on each foot,
and another on each hand. The victims of the joke were now unable to
hurt any of their captors when they struck out at them, and the crowd
was greatly amused as well as excited.
"Come on, now!" panted Barry. "Boost them up here. Throw the rope over
a couple of rungs of the ladder, Max. That's it."
The rope in question was a strong manilla, about four feet long. At
each end was a snap, such as is spliced upon the ends of hitch-ropes.
Two boys lifted each of the embarrassed prisoners, and held them under
the ladder. The snaps were fastened in the rings back of their
shoulders.
There they hung, kicking and sprawling. At first Barry Gray and Max
Bender, one of the other big boys, held the victims.
"Here you are now," said Captain Gray, sternly. "You wanted to fight a
fellow much smaller than yourself last night, Bill; and you agreed to
take on a fellow nearer your size. Here's Jack willing to accommodate
you. Now, go to it, you chaps, and may the best man win!"
He and Max both stepped back, dragging their prisoners with them, and
then they let the two helpless ones swing together.
Their heads bumped. Bill let out a roar and tried to kick Max with one
of his muffled feet. In doing so his other foot caught Jack above the
knee.
"Look out what you're doing--you chump!" exclaimed Jack. "Keep still,
can't you?"
"Keep still yourself," growled Bill, as his gyrating friend collided
with him again with some force. He tried to push Jack away. At once
the latter put out his mittened hand and punched Bill between the eyes.
"Look out what you're doing!" yelled Bill, striking madly at his
opponent.
In a moment they were at it! The poguey fight was on. The two
erstwhile chums swung over the rungs of the horizontally laid ladder,
like the famous Kilkenny cats, punched and kicked and batted at each
other in a most ridiculous manner.
They couldn't hurt each other very much, save when they bumped heads,
and that was not often. But they grew madder every moment.
The spectators were delighted, and the harder the combatants tried to
strike each other, the more ridiculous the whole thing appeared.
Why it was called "poguey" nobody seemed to know, but Bobby discovered
that it had long been practiced at Rockledge School, and that usually
the two victims accepted the situation philosophically and did not
really get mad.
The two bullies, however, had never learned to control their tempers.
Besides, both considered that the other was somewhat to blame for their
predicament.
The battle continued, fast and furious. Bill Bronson's face was
blazing. Jack Jinks' was very ugly indeed to look at. If they could
have torn the gloves off their hands they would have done so and struck
each other with their bare fists.
Suddenly Jack drew up his knee as they swung together, and he caught
Bill right in the belt. It was a solid blow and the victim uttered a
cry of anger and pain. Captain Gray stepped forward and stopped the two
from swinging together again.
"Foul blow," he said, decidedly. "You know the penalty well enough,
Jack. When you're let down, Bill's got the right to punch you with his
bare fist--if he likes."
"And if he does, I'll hand him all he's looking for," declared the
squint-eyed youth, glaring at the boy who had been his chief friend.
"Do it, and you'll get what's coming to you!" threatened Bill, just as
angrily.
Barry winked at Max Bender. "Let's take them down. I guess they won't
be half so thick hereafter--and then maybe some of the little fellows
will have a better time."