PAID IN PULL TO DATE
Then, struck by a sudden consideration of prudence, Bert stepped
back two or three feet, looking appealingly at the farmer.
"Will you stay here long enough to see fair play done?" Dodge
demanded of the farmer.
"If there is going to be a boxing exhibit, with plenty of science,
and all fair play," grinned the farmer, "I don't believe there
are enough of you young fellows here to chase me away. Start
things moving as soon as you like."
With that the stranger drew out a pipe, which he proceeded to
fill and light.
"Get yourself in shape, you mucker!" breathed Bert fiercely, pulling
off his coat and tossing his motoring cap after it to the ground.
"Come on---get ready!"
"I'm no rowdy," Dick declared coolly, making no move to put himself
in readiness.
"No; you're a coward, with a long line of talk, but no spirit
in you!" jeered young Dodge.
"If I'm a coward, what possible glory would there be in your fighting
me?" Dick smiled.
"Let me have the sneak!" begged Dave, stepping forward, but Dick
pushed his churn back. Tom Reade took tight hold of Dave's right
arm.
With the prospects of an encounter vanishing, Bert Dodge's valor
went up tenfold.
"Get up your guard!" he roared. "I've been taking boxing lessons
and I want to teach you one or two things."
"I haven't been taking any boxing lessons lately," Dick remarked
with composure.
"Oh, that's why you're afraid to act at all like a man, is it?"
scoffed Bert in his harshest voice.
"No; my main reason for not caring to fight you, Dodge, is that
I don't like the idea of soiling my hands."
"What's that?" screamed Bert in added fury. "You insult
me---you---you mucker?"
"If I'm a mucker, then you don't need to feel insulted at my opinion
of you," Dick suggested, with a smile.
But this hesitancy on the part of Prescott was filling Bert Dodge
with more valor every instant.
"Prescott, I've owed you something for a mighty long time," quivered
Bert. "And now it's coming! Here it is!"
He aimed a savage blow at Dick. Young Prescott, who had really
doubted that Dodge had courage enough to invite a fight, was not
expecting it. The blow landed on Dick's chin, sending the leader
of Dick & Co to the ground.
"Now, get up and answer that---you---you sneak!" dared Bert exultantly.
Dick was on his feet fast enough, side-stepping just in time to
dodge a follow-up punch.
"Dodge," Dick remarked, as he threw up his guard, "there, is still
time for you to beat it out of here if you don't want to take
the consequences of that blow."
"You put me out of here!" Bert retorted defiantly.
Though Dick was quivering with indignation, he still hesitated
to spring at Dodge. Dick didn't want to fight, on the sole ground
that he felt too much contempt for his opponent.
"Come, on, you mucker!" challenged Bert, dancing about Prescott.
Then Dodge delivered two swift, straight-from-the-shoulder blows.
Of a sudden Dick jumped into the fray.
"Good!" quivered Darry, his eyes flashing. To Dave's way of thinking,
Dick's swift vigorous defence should have followed that first
knock-down.
"Come on, you mucker!" taunted Bert, while the interchange of
blows now became fast and furious. "If there's anything you know
how to do in this game, let us see what it is! Trot it out!"
"I'll attend to my side of this match," said Dick quietly. "My
advice to you is that you keep quiet and save your wind for your
own protection."
"Bosh! You can't do anything to anyone in my class!" sneered
Bert. Indeed, young Dodge's address to his task opened up
particularly well. Dodge was rather heavy for his years, and he had
been doing some good training work through the spring and early
summer.
Dick, who was lighter and not noticeably quicker, confined himself,
at the outset, to his old tactics of allowing his opponent to
tire himself.
Bert, however, was soon quick to discover this. He moderated
the savagery of his own attack somewhat, sparring cleverly for
a chance to feint and then land a face blow.
Dick gave ground readily when it served his purpose, though he
did not run.
"Keep back, fellows!" called Tom Reade. "Don't get near enough
to interfere with either man."
"Don't interfere with either the man or the thing, you mean,"
interposed Danny Grin.
"Shut up, Dalzell!" ordered Reade with generous roughness. "Remember
that you're not fighting Dodge, and that it's unfair to say anything
to anger him. Be fair!"
Though Dick's chums followed the fighters, at a generous distance,
they would have noticed, had they been less intent on the work
of the combatants, that Bayliss kept well on the outskirts of
the crowd. Bayliss didn't want to attract any dangerous notice
to himself, nor was he at all sure that the farmer would interfere
to see fair play for Dodge's side. In this, however, he really
wronged the farmer.
In giving ground Prescott stepped backward, his feet becoming
entangled with a vine running along the ground.
Down went Dick, just in time to save himself from a savage blow
in the face.
"Stand up to the fight, like a man!" roared Dodge, for he felt
that he was winning.
Dick drew himself to his knees. Ere he could gain his feet Bert
landed a smashing blow on his left cheek. Down went Dick again.
"Stop that sort of thing, Dodge!" flared Dave Darrin. "Either
man who goes down must have safety until he's on his feet again."
"Shut up!" flared Bert, but this time he waited, afraid to try
to hit his opponent until Dick was on his feet.
"Can't Dodge run his own fight, hang you?" Bayliss demanded.
This was the first word he had had the courage to utter.
Quick as a flash Dave wheeled, running toward Dodge's companion.
"This isn't wholly Dodge's fight, Bayliss," Darry cried, his anger
at a white heat. "Prescott has some rights in the game, and you
know it, too."
"You're too fresh!" snapped Bayliss.
"You're no good, Bayliss," Darry remarked contemptuously.
"You're a sneak and a liar, and so-----"
"And so I shall claim some of your time just as soon as Dick and
Dodge have finished," retorted Darry coldly. "Don't forget that,
Bayliss, and don't show yourself up by trying to run away."
With that Darrin stalked back to watch the finish of the present
affair.
Dick, on his feet again, renewed the battle in earnest. He found
Dodge a really worthy opponent. Both boys soon had bruised faces
to show.
Smash! That blow, delivered by Bert, almost ended the fight.
Dick staggered backward, the blood beginning to flow from his
nose.
Dodge followed it up, driving in another hard blow. The pain
stung Dick, not to madness, but into a more resolute defense,
with more of offense in it.
Then Dick so manoeuvred that he had Dodge between himself and
the shore of the lake. This advantage gave young Prescott slightly
higher ground on the gentle slope toward the lake. Bert tried
to manoeuvre for a more level footing, but Prescott drove him
slowly backward.
Suddenly one of Dick's blows landed, with staggering force, on
the tip of Dodge's chin. Bert went to earth, rolling over as
he struck, and lying face downward. He was not knocked out,
but he had had enough.
For a moment or two Dick glanced down at his adversary in cold
contempt. Then suddenly, without a word, he bent over, seizing
Dodge by the shirt collar and belt, and threw him sprawling out
into the lake.
Young Dodge landed some distance from the bank. There was a loud
splash and a yell from the vanquished one, then a gurgling noise
as Bert's mouth went under water. He disappeared under the black
surface of the lake.
Dick waited calmly, ready to go to Dodge's assistance if needed.
Bert, however, rose quickly, the water not much above his knees.
"You loafer!" hissed Dodge, dashing the water from his face.
"Haven't you had enough?" asked Prescott mildly. "Didn't the
water cool you off?"
Dodge didn't reply, but he walked a few steps away before attempting
to step on dry land, thus avoiding his late opponent.
"That little business is all over," declared Tom Reade coolly.
"Bend down by the water, Dick, and I'll wash your nose with my
handkerchief. Greg, bring one of the lanterns here."
"Now, I guess it's time for our practice, Bayliss," Dave announced,
stepping over to Bert's companion.
"I've got to look after Dodge," mumbled Bayliss.
"No, you don't!" Dave warned him. "After the kind of language
you have used to me you can't slip out of trouble quite so easily
as all that. Get ready."
"Quit---can't you?" protested Bayliss.
"No; not unless you'll admit that you lied when you applied
disagreeable names to me," said Dave Darrin firmly. "Bayliss,
are you ready to admit that you are a liar?"
"You bet I'm not!" cried the other hoarsely. "Then back up your
words! Ready! Here's something coming!"
That "something" arrived. Bayliss fairly gasped as Darrin started
in on him.
But Dave drew back, holding up his fists.
"You didn't get started fairly, Bayliss," Darry declared. "I
want you to have as fair a show as possible. Draw in a deep breath.
Fill your lungs with air. Plant your feet firmly. Put up your
hands."
Patiently Darry waited for perhaps three quarters of a minute.
"Now!" he said at last.
Then the fight went on, but it was one sided. Had Bayliss done
himself justice, it might have resulted in a draw, at least, for
Bayliss was strong and quick. But he lacked courage.
Presently Bayliss, considerably battered, though not as severely
punished as Dodge had been, went down to his knees, nor would
he rise.
"Going to get up and go on?" demanded Darry, pausing before him.
"Or do you quit?"
Bayliss, breathing hard, did not answer.
"What you need here," declared the farmer, stepping forward and
puffing slowly at his pipe, "is a referee. I'll take the job.
Bayliss, if you believe that you can do anything more, then the
place for you is on your feet. I'll give you until I count five."
Deliberately the farmer counted, but Bayliss remained on his knees.
"Bayliss loses," announced the farmer. "Not that I believe he
ever had much in the fighting line to lose, but he loses."
"I'll wait five minutes for him," offered Darry. "By that time
he'll be in shape to go on again."
"He's in good enough shape now," declared the self-appointed referee.
"The point is that Mr. Bayliss hasn't any liking for boxing.
He's the kind of young man that finds croquet strenuous enough!"
The four recent combatants now had some repairing to do. Dick
and Dave were attended by their own friends. The farmer offered
to help Bert Dodge ease his bruises. Greg made a tender of his
services to Bayliss, but was gruffly repulsed.
"Everything is over," called the farmer at last. "I must wake
up my horses and get on to Gridley. Young gentlemen, I'm much
obliged for the rest that my horses have had, and also for my
entertainment. Dodge, I don't believe you're really worth an
ounce of soda crackers, but I realize that you don't feel as bright
as usual, so I'm going to help you get the tires on your car."
Reaching up, the farmer untied one end of the line on which the
tires hung. Letting the tubes fall at his feet. The man then
drew a card out of his pocket and handed it to Reade.
"That will tell you who I am, if you ever want to find me," suggested
the farmer.
"George Simpson," said Tom, reading the card. "Mr. Simpson, we're
certainly glad of having had the pleasure of meeting you."
Reade thereupon gravely introduced the other members of Dick &
Co.
"Glad to have met you, boys," said Simpson, picking up the tires.
"Now, come along, Dodge and Bayliss, if you want my help, for
I really must be moving."
"This hasn't been such a dull evening, after all," jovially commented
Tom Reade, after the late visitors had vanished into the darkness
surrounding the camp.
"I'm sorry for the fighting, though," mused Dick aloud. "I don't
enjoy anything that makes bad blood, or more bad blood, between
human beings."
"You couldn't do anything else but fight," retorted Greg sharply.
"That's the only reason why I fought," Prescott rejoined.
Half or three quarters of an hour later two resonant honks sounded
from the red Smattach automobile up at the roadside. Dick & Co.
rightly judged that Simpson had taken this means of signaling
them that the Smattach car was ready to go on its way again.
"What's the matter with Mr. Simpson?" Tom demanded at the top
of his voice.
From the throats of all of Dick & Co. came the ready response!
"He's all right!"
Honk! honk! honk! Mr. Simpson had heard this tribute to himself.
Then the chugging of a starting car was heard. The noise soon
sounded fainter, then died away.
"That's the last of the firm of Dodge and Bayliss for this season!"
chuckled Dave Darrin.
In this conclusion, however, it was wholly probable that Darry
was wrong. He would have been sure of it, himself, had he been
privileged to hear the talk of Bert Dodge and his companion as
the enraged and humiliated pair drove swiftly over the rough road
on their way back to Gridley.
"I can't think of anything bad enough to call Dick Prescott,"
growled Bert, who sat at the steering wheel.
"Don't try to," grumbled Bayliss. "It would poison your mind."
"The mucker!"
"The sneak!"
"The coward! He fights only when he has his gang with him."
"I don't see what the high school fellows can find to admire in
that crowd," quivered Bayliss, tenderly fingering his damaged
eye.
"Never mind what anyone thinks of them!" raged Bert Dodge. "We've
nothing but our own side of the affair to settle!"
"What do you mean?" asked Bayliss curiously.
"Bayliss, what do you think I am?"
"Oh, I guess you're a pretty good sort of fellow, Bert."
"Do you think I'd let business like to-night's go by without
resenting it?"
"Are you going to try to take Prescott on again?" Bayliss asked
wonderingly.
"I'm not a fool!" retorted Dodge indignantly. "Prescott might
thrash me again. Bayliss, I'm going to hit him with the kind
of club that he can't beat!"
"Is the club big enough to take care of Darrin, too?"
"I'm after the whole Prescott gang, for good measure!" Bert raged.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll let you in on it, Bayliss, when I have all the details
planned---if you've nerve enough to do a man's part---of which I'm
not too sure," Dodge finished under his breath.
"You may count on me for anything---anything that is prudent!"
Bayliss declared.