LOYALTY
The freshman's smile had returned, and he stood with the gloves swinging
by the strings from his hand. Siebold, who really was no piker, was
slipping on his gloves and having them laced up. Gus wished Bill to talk
for him--and Tony too--not that he needed moral support, but it was
pleasanter to have good friends along than to be entirely surrounded by
opponents. However, he felt quite equal to the physical task, and as
ready to stand his ground morally.
"See here, you sophs," he said. "I'll box and gladly, but not in the way
Siebold wants to."
"Aw, what do you care how the other fellow feels? It's a bout just the
same; isn't it?"
"But Mr. Gay doesn't want us to show any hard feelings," Gus urged, "and
he's decent to us. I don't believe Siebold really thinks I'm
yellow--_do_ you?"--this last to his intended opponent.
"Looks like it," growled Siebold, showing more indignation than he
really felt. Had he permitted himself to use his reason, he would only
have admired Gus and would not have quarreled with him. Probably it was
nothing more than an uneasy conscience that now asserted itself and made
him add, in self-defense: "I guess you're yellow enough."
Gus had but one reply to make to that--and his answer was not verbal. He
did not again take his eyes from Siebold, but he pulled on the gloves,
laced the right one with the clumsy stuffed thumb and his teeth. Then he
stepped forward. Siebold made a feint of extending his hand for the
customary shake; but Gus ignored it and the next moment the two were at
it in a way that showed clearly the desire to hurt each other and to
disregard the mere matter of points. It was a slugging match from the
first.
Siebold was no mean antagonist, and he had some tricks worthy of the
prize ring. Moreover, he was a little taller, a little heavier and had a
longer reach than Grier. Immediately it became apparent that he was
trying for a knock-out--he meant to put Gus away and to do it as quickly
as possible.
But Gus did not mean to be put out, and it became as quickly evident
that he was quite capable of making Siebold work hard even to hit him.
Siebold would bore in, drive for the jaw or stomach, and either miss or
land lightly; but he would nearly always get a stinging crack in
return--delivered at the same instant that his own blow was blocked, or
in the fraction of a second after he had only struck the empty air.
Still, these blows of Gus's were not paralyzers--they were just
weakeners. They made Siebold angry enough to spend his strength in
getting back at the chap who could land in just when and where he
wished.
Siebold's nose ached and bled; his eyes smarted, and one was closing.
His stomach, too, was sore, and somehow he could not help but feel that
his blows were growing futile. At the end of the fifth round, as he sat
back on a bench, letting some of his would-be handlers fan and sponge
him, he looked across at Gus, standing there, refusing all half-hearted
offers of attention and gazing at him with a smile on his unmarked face,
the sophomore champion began to wish he had not got into this fuss. Then
he grew furious at the thought that he was not making good.
A few minutes later, near the end of the sixth round, he began to try
for clinches in order to save himself, but somehow his wary opponent, as
quick on his feet and as strong with his hands as he was at the start,
was still adept at hitting and getting away. Just then Sadler, who, with
watch in hand, always made a little step forward as he called the end of
each round, put out his foot when Siebold was facing him and the
sophomore, tired and eager for a minute's respite, started to get back
and lowered his guard. And upon the instant of shouting the word Gus,
with his back to Sadler, let go with his right.
Siebold crumpled up like a rag. Sadler, slow to begin counting, stood
over him a moment. Gus drew back and with the first excitement he had
shown jerked his gloves off and tossed them wide. The boys crowded in,
gazing at Siebold who lay with white face and sprawled out like one
dead. Gus heard Sadler's count reach eight; then stop. Someone said:
"What's the matter with him, boys?" They had not seen a fellow lie so
still and show not even the flicker of an eyelid. One boy stooped down
and lifted Siebold's arm, calling to him: "Wake up! Are you hurt?" A
doctor's son got down and put his ear to Siebold's heart. "Gosh,
fellows! It's stopped! He's--he's dead!"
Gus pushed the boys aside. He had hit Siebold over the heart harder than
he had intended. What if the blow had proved fatal? Most unlikely; more
than once he himself had been struck that way. It had hurt him, and once
it brought him to his knees, but it had never made him unconscious. He,
in turn, got down and put his ear to Siebold's side. In the excitement
both the doctor's son and Gus had listened at the right side and no one
had observed the mistake. They were all looking on with horrified faces.
Gus could hear nothing; he touched the prostrate youth's cheek; it was
cold. He rose with something like a sob.
"Fellows, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't know he couldn't stand it.
But he can't really be much hurt, can he? Why, I--he----"
Again Gus knelt and listened for heart beats. He slumped down, feeling
as though his own heart would stop, too. In his daze he heard someone
talking on the telephone at the far end of the gym and dimly
distinguished the word "doctor." He got to his feet then. No one opposed
him. He must get Bill, good old Bill, to speak for him and tell them
that he had not meant to hurt Siebold. They must know he was not
murderously inclined, and that he hated to hurt anyone, anything, an
animal, a bug even; also that he would not run away if they wanted to
arrest him.
In a sort of trance he reached his room, where he found Bill and Tony.
Gus fell into a chair, almost sobbing.
"Bill, old fellow,--we boxed,--Siebold! And I--I've--I guess I've killed
him! I didn't mean to, Bill, you know that. Tell them I didn't; that
I'll be here and go to prison without a word. And write home, Bill, and
tell them----"
"Oh, stuff!" said Bill. "I don't believe it! Tony will go see about it.
At the gym, Gus? Yes, at the gym," nodding to the Italian.
Tony was gone. Bill stood by Gus, his hand on his chum's head. Seldom
was there any real show at tenderness between these lads, but there was
a loyalty there that made such a demonstration unnecessary.
"It isn't so, Gus--and even if it should be--anybody knows it was an
accident, and you won't be arrested. At least not in a criminal
way--only in the matter of form. The president will understand. And,
Gus, we can get together money enough to defend you--legally--even
though we have to quit school."
"_You_ sha'n't quit school!" said Gus. "Not if I have to do time! No,
sir! It doesn't matter much about me, but you--you're not to be in this
at all, except I don't want us ever to be not chums, Bill."
Rapid footsteps were coming along the hall then; the door opened and
Tony and Sadler burst into the room.
"He's all right, Grier. He's come to."
"Yes, _mio amico_; Siebold, this Sadler say, is again recover. You no
need longer to fear. But, ah! They tell it to me that he a sight
presents. He will go to his classes the observed. And it serves him all
the right; is it not so? And the most to do is to explain the Doctor for
you--which we all do."