"Because you can't. Fellows like you don't do that sort of thing."
It looked as if Tad Whitelaw had some special animosity against him,
when he sprang from his chair to say insolently, "And fellows like you
don't hang round where they're not wanted."
"Oh, Tom didn't mean anything--" Guy began to interpose.
"Then let him keep his mouth shut, or--" he nodded toward the door--"or
get out."
Tom kept his temper, waiting till Tad dropped back into his chair
again. "You see, it's this way. The old chap has a home, and if he
doesn't come back to it in the course of, let us say, half an hour his
family'll get scared. If they hunt him up at the shop, and find he's
been locked in, they'll make a row at the police station just across
the street. If the police get in on the business they're sure to find
out who did it."
"Well, it won't be you, will it?" Tad sneered again.
"No, it won't be me, but even you don't want to be...."
Tad turned languidly to Guy. "Say, Guy! Awful pity isn't it about
little Jennie Halligan! Cutest little dancer in the show, and she's
fallen and broken her leg."
Tom got up, walked quietly to the table, picked up the key, and at the
same even pace was making for the door, when Tad sprang in front of him.
"Damn you! Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to let the old fellow out."
"Drop that key."
"Get out of my way."
"Like hell I'll get out of your way."
"Don't let us make a row here."
"Drop that key. Do you hear me?"
The rage in Tad's face was at being disobeyed. He was not afraid of
this fellow two inches taller than himself. He hated him. Ever since
coming to Harvard the swine had had the impertinence to be called by
the same name, and to look like him. He knew as well as anyone else the
nickname by which the bounder was going, and knew that he, the bounder,
encouraged it. It advertised him. It made him feel big. He, the brother
of the Whitelaw Baby, had been longing to get at the fellow and give
him a whack on the jaw. He would never have a better opportunity.
The lift of his hand and the grasp with which Tom caught the wrist
were simultaneous. Slipping the key into his pocket, Tom brought his
other hand into play, throwing the lighter-built fellow out of his path
with a toss which sent him back against the desk. Maddened by this
insult to his person, Tad picked up the inkstand on the desk, hurling
it at Tom's head. The inkstand grazed his ear, but went smash against
the wall, spattering the new wallpaper with a great blob of ink. Guy
groaned, with some wild objurgation. To escape from the room Tom had
turned his back, when a blow from an uplifted chair caught him between
the shoulders. Wheeling, he wrenched the chair from the hands of Spit
Castle, chucked it aside and dealt the young man a stinger that brought
the blood from the tapir nose. All blind rage by this time, he caught
the weedy youth's head under his right arm, pounding the face with
his left fist till he felt the body sagging from his hold. He let it
go. Spit fell on the sofa, which was spattered with blood, as the
wallpaper with ink. Startled at the sight of the limp form, he stood
for a second looking down at it, when his skull seemed crashed from
behind. Staggering back, he thought he was going to faint, but the
sight of Tad aiming another thump at him, straight between the eyes,
revived him to berserker fury. He sprang like a lion on an antelope.
Strong and agile on his side, Tad was stiff to resistance. Before the
sheer weight of Tom's body he yielded an inch or two, but not more.
Freeing his left hand, as he bent backward, he dealt Tom a bruising
blow on the temple. Tom disregarded it, pinning Tad's left arm as he
had already pinned the right. His object now was to get the boy down,
to force him to his knees. It was a contest of brutal strength. When it
came to brutal strength the advantage was with the bigger frame, the
muscles toughened by work. The fight was silent now, nearly motionless.
Slowly, slowly, as iron gives way to the man with the force to bend it,
Tad was coming down. His feet were twisted under him, with no power to
right themselves. Two pairs of eyes, strangely alike, glared at each
other, like the eyes of frenzied wild animals. Tad gave a quick little
groan.
"O God, my leg's breaking."